


A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the GCPD

by ORiley42



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, Body Swap, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Season/Series 03, a no good really bad day is had by all, except for Zsasz who thinks this is all hilarious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22311562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: Jim Gordon and Oswald Cobblepot get body-swapped. Needless to say, they're not thrilled with this state of affairs.This fic contains: high cringe and true love, electrocution and general shenanigans!
Relationships: Harvey Bullock/Jim Gordon, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 79
Kudos: 210





	1. stop me if you’ve heard this one before

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe that in five whole years of television, Gotham never gave us a body swap episode. What’s up with that? Body swaps are one of my all-time fave tropes, especially when they’re goofy & gay – which this fic absolutely is. Cut to me telling people in comments on my other Gotham fics that I’m “almost done” with this fic for Actual Years (which was not technically a lie—those last 5k words just Would Not Happen). And now! It’s actually here!  
> Shout out to tunglo (prev. serenwib/falsteloj), to whom I’m a hugely indebted for their delightful Gordlock works! Reading those stories totally inspired me to take a stab at that relationship here. 
> 
> Timeline-wise: This fic diverges from canon in early-mid season 3, in the general energy of just-post-“Anything For You” with Ed & Oswald newly together, Jim freshly re-joined with the GCPD, and Arkham escapees still on the loose.

Electricity sizzled through the room, sending the mad scientist’s already wild hair up to even more impressive heights as he ranted, words increasingly incomprehensible but consistently megalomaniacal. With a final triumphant screech of, “humanity will forever remember me!”, he grabbed the handle of an over-sized switch with both hands and slammed it into the “ON” position.

Oswald and Jim, strapped down to a pair of metal tables and hooked up to a contraption that looked like it had been stolen from a first year film student’s punk-rock remake of Frankenstein, both braced for impact as a massive crackle of energy leapt towards them.

The wave of electricity roared through the shoddily-constructed helmets strapped about their craniums and sank its teeth into their flesh. For about three seconds, they shared a world of blindingly bright pain, and then the current dissipated with a rather underwhelming hiss.

They glanced down at themselves. They glanced at each other.

“You ok?” Jim asked, wary.

“I could have done without being electrocuted,” Oswald grumbled.

“For once, I agree with you.”

The scientist made a garbled noise and clutched at his frazzled yellow curls, beginning to jump up and down with rage. “The coefficients were flawless! The zeta fields were in line! The transfer should have taken root in the fertile soil of the tenant’s gray matter!”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Oswald asked, sounding calmer than he really felt.

“No clue,” Jim squeezed his eyes shut, “I left my Crazy-to-English dictionary at home.”

“Speaking of things you left behind,” Oswald snarled, tugging at his binds, “Where the hell is your backup?”

“I went without,” Jim admitted grimly. “Though Harvey’s smart enough to have figured that out by now and is hopefully on his way. Where's _your_ backup?”

Oswald sighed. “Distracted by a vending machine.”

“ _What_?”

“Zsasz gets snack-y sometimes!” Oswald explained, defensive, “He’s still the best in the business, even if he sometimes has the attention span of a concussed goldfish. I'm sure he'll be along soon...”

“Probably not soon enough to stop this guy from melting our brains, but hey, at least he’ll be well fed when he finds our corpses.”

“Don’t you get snippy with me, James Gordon, _I_ didn’t get us into this mess.”

“And you think _I_ did? You were the one who stuck your nose into a police investi—”

“Excuse me!” Their captor shrieked, “It’s very rude to whisper! Especially when someone else is monologuing!”

“What’s _rude_ is kidnapping people to be guinea pigs in your asinine pseudo-experiments!” Oswald shot back at top volume, never one to be out-shrieked.

The man gasped dramatically, his ill-tended eyebrows flying up his forehead. “There’s nothing _asinine_ about my experiments. I know what I’m doing, I have a _doctorate_.”

“In what, archaeology? That’d explain how you dug up your antiquated little ray gun here.”

“It’s an engrammatic facsimilator!” Their captor’s eyes bulged out of his sockets, a vein pulsing in his temple. “And I’ll have you know that I, Doctor Double X, am the very best—”

They never found out what Doctor Double X was the very best at, because a bullet lodged itself in the back of his head before he could continue.

“Hey, boss!” Zsasz hollered cheerfully from the doorway, waving with his gun and sending a school of goldfish crackers clattering to the ground.

“About time!” Oswald yelled, “I could have _died_! I hope that satisfying your case of the munchies was worth it!”

Zsasz thought for a moment. “It was!” he finally answered with a grin.

“Can I arrest him?” Jim asked in an undertone, even as the assassin came forward to release them from their bonds.

“I’m genuinely tempted to say yes,” Oswald muttered, rubbing at his reddened wrists once they were freed, “but I’ll have to decline.”

“If you change your mind…” Jim kept his glare fixed on Zsasz, who tossed him a saucy wink in response.

“I know where to find you.” Oswald held out a hand for Jim to shake, which he did with some reluctance. “This was fun. Let’s never do it again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The next morning…_

It was cold, the morning air nipping at his exposed skin. “Grppphh….” Oswald mumbled, which was his not-quite-awake way of saying, “stop being a damn blanket-thief, Edward.” Oswald’s bed-companion, being soundly asleep, did not reply or relinquish his hold.

Instinctively, Oswald reached towards the center of the bed where warmth was radiating out of a bundle of blankets and limbs. His nose wrinkled involuntarily as something toeing the line between stale and putrid assaulted his senses.

What the hell was _that_? It reminded him of the alley behind Fish Mooney’s place where her goons used to smoke and spit and chew tobacco while they waited for someone to beat on.

He dragged one eye open to see if something had broken into their room and died, or perhaps if Ed had brought one of his science experiments home.

With a choked gasp, he bolted upright.

The offending smell wasn’t coming from something in his room because _this was not his bedroom_.

Why wasn’t he in his room? Where was he? Now that he tried to think, he couldn’t even remember going home last night. The last thing he could recall was being snatched up by that lunatic with the ridiculous name, and then a crackling hot pain searing through his skull and then…nothing.

His brain tripped through the possibilities: he was dreaming, he was hallucinating, he’d been kidnapped in his sleep and placed in a hovel next to…

Wait. If he wasn’t in his bedroom, then it followed that the lump breathing next to him was most likely _not_ Ed.

He rolled over and saw, wrapped tight in a messy bundle of covers, the absolute last person on the planet that he would ever want to wake up next to: Harvey Bullock.

With a howling in his ears, violence overrode his common sense and he dove with a screech towards the slumbering detective.

“What is this!?” Oswald demanded as he grabbed the Harvey-shaped bundle of blankets and began to shake it, startling Harvey into semi-alertness. “What did you _do_!”

“Hmmshh whaaa?” Harvey mumbled, looking up at an enraged Oswald with a surprising lack of concern.

Eager to remedy that lack of fear, Oswald got his hands around Harvey’s neck and began to squeeze before noticing—

What—what was wrong with his hands? The color wasn’t right, neither was the shape. It was like looking at them through a funhouse mirror.

Oswald’s distraction loosened his hold enough for Harvey to cough, catch his breath, then say, “Whoa now, if you were into this kinky stuff, you should’a said so last night…”

The palimpsest of horrors enclosed in those few words began to unfold in Oswald’s mind, which had no other recourse in the face of such traumatizing realizations but to shut down entirely.

The physical manifestation of this mental foreclosure was Oswald letting out a garbled “Blergh!” and lurching backwards, promptly toppling off the edge of the bed.

I _must_ be hallucinating, he hypothesized, lying on the ground and trying to find his way out of a crushing panic. God knows how many volts of electricity were shot through my brain yesterday, bizarre visions could easily be a side-effect!

That theory didn’t hold much water in the face of painful reality. His shoulders were protesting their rough treatment from the fall, his elbow was stuck in something sticky that he didn’t dare try to identify, and one of his legs was stuck up at an awkward angle, still half hooked onto the bed.

A vaguely worried Harvey appeared above him.

“You alright down there, Jim?” he asked.

Oswald blinked. He shook his head. “Who—what—did you just—” he cut himself off with a gasp and grabbed his own throat.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, listening to his own voice, except it wasn’t his own voice, it was _someone else’s horribly familiar voice_ , coming out of his mouth…

Oswald looked down at himself and saw arms and a chest and legs and all the other things that he expected to see except they weren’t _his_ arms and chest and legs and other things they were _someone else’s_ and—

“Holy _fuck_!” he scrambled to his feet, only peripherally noticing that neither of his ankles protested at the sudden jarring movement. Just as he got his balance, he almost went toppling over again with shock at what he saw out of the corner of his eye: Jim Gordon’s face, staring at him with unmitigated horror out of a dusty mirror. Oswald opened his mouth and the reflection opened its mouth. He stepped to the left and the image in the mirror moved with him. He pushed and pulled the flesh of his face, mashing it around until it ached, but the mirror still shouted _Jim Gordon_ back at him.

“Seriously, Jim, you ok? You’re kinda weirding me out…”

Right, Harvey Bullock was still there. Which made some amount of sense, if he, Oswald, was Jim Gordon. Was he Jim Gordon, somehow? Was this the mother of all existential crises? Was he finally cracking up? Who was he? What was _happening—_

“Is this some sorta joke?” Harvey guessed, scratching his stomach thoughtfully, “Because we talked about this, pal, your sense of humor got taken out back and shot before you were even born.”

“Wait, a joke?” Oswald perked up. “Do you think this could be a joke? Some big, horrible practical joke? Is that you, Zsasz?” he shrieked, spinning around on the spot, “Because this isn’t half as funny as the time you glued that angry hedgehog onto Butch’s stump!”

“Zsasz? Hedgehogs? The hell are you talking about? Did you hit your head when you fell—”

Harvey was cut off by the sound of a cell phone ringing. He and Oswald looked around, trying to find the source, half-buried somewhere in the sea of clothing surrounding the bed.

“For the love of god, Bullock,” Oswald exclaimed when Harvey started to extract himself from the sheets and it became abundantly clear that he was _not_ the pajama-wearing type, “Please remain covered.”

Harvey paused. “Calling me by my last name? I must be in trouble…”

Oswald ignored him, suddenly aware that he was also very naked, and remedying that situation was now his top priority.

Killing two birds with one stone, Oswald found the cell phone hiding under a pair of faded boxers which he struggled into one-handed, checking the still-ringing phone with the other. He froze when he realized why the caller ID looked so familiar. It was his own number.

Hands shaking slightly, he flipped the phone open and held it to his ear. “H-hello?”

“Hello? Harvey, is that you?”

“No, it’s…I’m not sure,” Oswald replied, feeling faint with uncanny recognition. He knew the voice shouting at him through the line, he’d heard it before, tinny and played back on the radio in a mayoral campaign spot.

“Whoever you are, if you’ve hurt him, I swear to god—”

“Oh, please, he’s fine, but…is this…is this _Jim Gordon_?” Oswald waited for an answer with bated breath, the pieces of this absolute mindfuck of a morning beginning to come together to form one terrifying picture.

“Are you talking about yourself in the third person?” Harvey asked, heaving himself off the bed. Oswald cursed under his breath and slapped a hand over his eyes. “That’s it, I’m taking you in for a CAT scan.”

Stumbling blindly away from the sound of Bullock’s voice, Oswald backed up till he hit what felt like a wall, until it gave in.

With a thump, he fell on his ass for the second time in as many minutes, this time on the floor of a tiny, unthinkably unhygienic bathroom. Scrambling, he slammed the door he’d just fallen through shut and threw his body weight against it.

“C’mon, Jim, get outta there! If you’re having some sort of mental break, you seriously do not wanna have it in there with the roaches and the leaky plumbing.”

“Just leave me alone, you lumbering oaf!” Oswald screeched, the sound hurting his foreign throat.

“Alright. I’m way too tired to start a siege on my own bathroom, you can have it. But if you’re not out in five minutes, I’m calling the EMTs.”

As soon as Harvey’s footsteps began to retreat, Oswald hissed into the phone, “You still there?”

“Yes! Now, what—”

“And you’re Jim?” Oswald confirmed, willing the strange not-his voice coming out of not-his mouth to remain steady.

“Yes! It’s me! Who the hell are you?”

“I’m _you_ , dumbass!”

“But wh—?” There was a gasp on the other end of the line and then a soft thump as the phone hit the carpet. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A little while earlier…_

Warm and safe. Or, more specifically, overheated and partly crushed in a sleepy embrace. The difference was negligible to Jim, who welcomed those feelings no matter their rough packaging. Although he wasn’t proud to admit it, that loneliness had been a driving factor behind his stumbling into bed with his partner.

The decision to start sleeping with Harvey could hardly even qualify as a ‘decision,’ more an instinctive move born of years of platonic intimacy paired with less platonic emotions brewing under the surface.

The tipping point had been Jim’s removal from the force. Harvey was no longer his partner, so any lingering guilt over regulations or etiquette had gone up in smoke. Then, when Jim had joined back up, they’d made an unspoken agreement to just keep quiet and go on with what they’d been doing. 

The only conversation they’d had out loud about their newfound relationship had been short and simple:

“So…this is happening,” Jim had said.

“Yep,” Harvey had agreed.

And that had settled it.

Jim was quite content with their familiar routine, which was why he’d barely even slipped into consciousness before he knew that something was wrong. Several somethings, actually.

Harvey’s cheap sheets weren’t chafing his skin; instead of a vague aura of beer, something thicker and more floral pricked at his nose; and most unusual of all, the arm slung around his waist felt _nothing_ like Harvey’s.

Jim opened his eyes, blinking into velvety darkness. Soft breath tickled the back of his neck, sending goosebumps racing down his arms. A jagged shaft of light peeked through thick curtains hanging a few feet away and he reached for it, scooting cautious hands before him, feeling for the edge of the bed.

But it wasn’t there. The bed just kept going, at least twice as large as Harvey’s rusty old double mattress. With another wave of foreboding, he realized that Harvey’s apartment faced west—entirely the wrong direction to get the morning sun that was definitely filtering through the curtains before him.

And— _morning_ sun? Last thing Jim remembered, it had been smack in the middle of the afternoon and he’d been out on call dealing with Gotham’s latest wannabe-supervillain…

So, even if Jim had been taken home after being zapped by that crazed doctor, and Harvey had gone on the most spectacular cleaning spree of his life, purchased a new bed and somehow transferred Jim to it without waking him…this was still not the Crown Point apartment Jim habitually woke up in.

“Mmm,” the owner of the arm still thrown over Jim’s waist stirred, and Jim froze stock still, a foolish prey-animal part of his brain hoping this would be sufficient to hide him from the stranger sharing the bed with him, “Good morning.”

Jim knew that voice. He knew it. But the context was all wrong, like when he’d had to arrest his high school band teacher during a heroin bust, and he hadn’t realized who she was until sweet old Mrs. Williamson was being booked for possession and distribution.

 _This is very, very bad_ , his gut told him, even as his memory refused to supply a name or face to match the voice. _You should consider running for your life_.

And so, before either rational thought or panic could paralyze him, he threw himself forward, reaching desperately for that shard of light.

A bizarre agony sank its claws into his right ankle (what had been done to him? Was this some sort of torture?), but he still managed to dig his fingers into the weighty fabric and pull, letting his momentum as he fell back towards the center off the bed rip the curtains half off their rings.

Sunlight poured in, half-blinding him and eliciting an indignant squawk from his bed-mate.

“Ack! What the—?” More snuffling, the rustle of sheets. “Darling. I ask this with the utmost love and respect: _have you lost your mind_?”

Jim whipped around and found himself nose to nose with Ed. _Nygma_. Cop-killer, psychopath, and liar by trade.

Though, admittedly, he didn’t look terribly frightening right now, squinting and wrinkling his nose and cowering from the intrusive light.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” Ed yawned, “either your sanity or your affection for me is in question, because this is _cruel_.”

Jim didn’t process anything that Ed was saying because _Ed Nygma was saying it!_ In _bed!_ A strange bed in a strange room that Jim had no memory of entering! It was too horrifying to process, like a nightmare—

A nightmare. This was just a nightmare, it had to be. He'd weathered nightmares like this before. Well, not like _this_. If he'd had dreams like this, he'd have actually gone out and found himself a therapist like Lee had been urging him to for so long.

“Nightmare, nightmare, this has to be a nightmare…” he muttered to himself, turning away from Ed and rubbing his eyes, willing this all to disappear.

“Nightmare?” Ed asked, the annoyance in his voice fading quickly into sympathy. “Oh dear…”

Warm fingers brushed against Jim’s bare shoulder and he jerked away, suppressing a yelp.

“That’s far enough, pal!” Jim squeaked, pointing a shaking finger at Ed, who was crawling towards him as Jim edged away. If this was a nightmare, it was a ridiculously lifelike one. A damnably _tangible_ one.

Ed paused, holding up a hand in surrender, allowing the sheets previously bunched up around his chest to fall.

“You’re naked!” Jim realized out loud. Suddenly, he began to hope that this wasn’t a nightmare, because he did _not_ want his subconscious to be capable of fabricating this.

“Well, yes,” Ed grinned, pleased. “You were quite insistent about getting me this way, not that I’m complaining…”

Jim grimaced. This whole wacked-out experience was starting to seem exactly like Gotham’s brand of weird. Like something Strange or Tetch or whoever was out to screw him over this year might cook up.

“What sort of game are you playing?” Jim demanded to know, crossing his arms. The movement alerted him to a fact his brain had been too busy to notify him of, which was that he was also not wearing much in the way of clothing. His state of undress made the prospect of glaring Ed into a confession that much trickier, but damned if he wasn’t going to try anyway.

Ed didn’t seem too cowed by Jim’s attempt to look threatening. In fact, he just smirked and replied, “None at the moment, but you know I love a good one…”

“You sick bastard,” Jim bit out, “is this revenge? Some twisted plot to make me pay for the things in your life that you blame me for? You think kidnapping me will fix any of—” Jim’s stomach dropped as he realized something. _Harvey_. Assuming his partner hadn’t abandoned him, then what had happened to him when Jim had been taken?

Jim hurled himself towards the edge of the monstrous four-poster bed, searching. “Aha!” He spotted a cell phone sitting on the bedside table, unguarded. If this was, in fact, a kidnapping, it was the lousiest he’d ever been part of.

“If I find out you did anything to him,” Jim growled, the low pitch grating his throat, “I’m going to lock you back up in Arkham and _personally_ throw away the key!”

“Him who? Arkham?” Ed’s brows drew together, then parted with understanding. “Oswald, you’re not making sense. I’m worried that your altercation with that unhinged Arkham escapee yesterday may have affected you…”

“Oswald? Why the hell are you calling me that? And what—” Jim stilled. “Wait. Yes, that’s it! This is all some messed up, electro-shock induced delusion…”

“That is precisely what I worry may be happening,” Ed agreed.

Jim looked down at the phone he’d just retrieved, and then up at Ed, then back down at the phone. Delusion or not, he thought, flipping open the phone, he still needed to check on his partner. 

His heart beat in triple-time between each ring as he waited for an answer.

Just as his mind was conjuring up its fifth worst-case scenario as for why Harvey wasn’t picking up, the line clicked and a shaky voice said, “H-hello?”

“Hello?” Jim clutched the phone with both hands, “Harvey, is that you?”

“Harvey?” Ed asked, tone sharp, “Bullock? Why are you calling _him_?”

Jim ignored Ed, listening to the faint voice say, “No, it’s…I’m not sure…”

The plastic phone casing creaked in his fist. “Whoever you are, if you’ve hurt him, I swear to god—”

“Oh, please, he’s fine, but…is this…is this _Jim Gordon_?”

“Yes! Of course—” He drew to a halt mid-yell, as the voice coming out of his own mouth filtered up to his ears. It sounded warped and bizarre. He hadn’t thought anything of it before, considering waking up with a sore throat was pretty damn low on his list of priorities that particular day, but this was more than that. It was like someone had wound his vocal cords up tight or…or replaced them entirely.

A crash echoed through the phone, reclaiming his attention.

“Hello?” he asked, but got no reply except muffled shouting, clearly not directed at him.

Ed shifted forward, reminding Jim that, yes, he was still in bed with Ed Nygma, for some godforsaken reason.

Eager to change that, Jim rolled off the edge of the bed, dragging half the covers down with him.

The strange and yet oddly familiar voice returned as he righted himself on a thick, plush carpet, asking “You still there?”

“Yes!” Jim shouted, struggling to stand and disentangle himself from the bedclothes, “Now, what—”

“And you’re Jim?”

“Yes! It’s me! Who the hell are you?” He asked, anger spiced with a healthy dose of fear rising in his chest.

“I’m _you_ , dumbass!”

“But wh—?” The words died in his throat as Jim caught sight of himself in an overwrought gilt mirror and dropped the phone. 

The person in the mirror wasn’t him. Not even _close_.

He looked down at his hands, except they weren’t his hands at all. He looked back up at the mirror, and saw the reflection holding out its hands, its expression tossing back every bit of dread and confusion he was feeling.

“Oswald, I’ve tried to remain calm, but I fear you’re hallucinating or dissociating or otherwise in danger of hurting yourself,” Ed said, slowly approaching Jim, “Please, just sit down, let me take care of you…”

“That’s…Oswald,” Jim said, pointing at the mirror and watching with a sort of detached fascination as the reflection of Penguin pointed back at him.

“…Yes,” Ed replied.

Looking back at the mirror, Jim voiced the only logical, and yet thoroughly mind-boggling, conclusion he could find: “I am…Oswald.”

“Yes, you are,” Ed agreed eagerly, “of _course_ you are.”

“Of course,” Jim echoed faintly.

“How do you feel?” Ed asked, slipping off the bed and going to the dresser, returning with a pair of dressing robes. “Headache, vertigo, other symptoms?” He pulled a robe on himself and wrapped the second around Jim’s shoulders while he waited for an answer.

“No, I’m fine,” Jim replied, mouth on autopilot while his brain shut down for an internal audit. “I just, uh…need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.” Ed tucked the folds of Jim’s robe closed with more tenderness than Jim had ever imagined the man possessed.

Jim’s unfocused gaze drifted slowly downwards, seeking the source of a tinny sort of buzzing. He realized it was the phone he’d abandoned and leaned over to retrieve it, the action feeling like it was being performed by someone else. And in a way, he supposed, it was.

He put the phone to his ear and heard, “—and then I will hunt down your _family_ and they will—”

“Hello?” Jim said, serenely, “I’m back.”

“Finally! I don’t know how much longer I can hide in this revolting bathroom before your partner breaks down the door.”

Hiding in the bathroom, that was an appealing thought! Jim turned to Ed with a strained smile.

“A shower.”

“What?”

“I just need a shower. To clear my head. Then I’ll be back to my old self.” The lie sounded thin even to Jim’s ears. 

Ed frowned. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that idea. You know my proposed remodel doesn’t start until next week, and without the proper safety precautions and updates, that shower is hazardous even to people who _weren’t_ uncertain of their own identities not thirty seconds ago…”

Jim nodded and began to back towards the bathroom anyway. “Good points, all good points, but um…I’ll just be extra careful.”

“Perhaps I should—”

“Mm-hmm!” Jim agreed, before slamming the door in Ed’s face and throwing the lock.

“Oh my god, _Ed!_ That was his voice, wasn’t it?” Oswald shouted as Jim went over to the antique clawfoot tub and wrenched on the water to cover the sound of their voices. “Did you hurt him, is he alright?”

And, that definitely was Oswald. Even in the wrong voice, in _Jim’s_ voice, his particular brand of histrionics was unmistakable.

“I didn’t touch your chief of staff who, if you weren’t aware, was in your _bed_ this morning!”

“Of course, I’m aware! That’s where he’s supposed to be!”

“Since _when_ have you—or, actually, _why_ are you sleeping with Ed, of all people?”

“It is none of your business! And how _dare_ you insinuate—” Oswald sputtered, “And, and—why is _that_ what you’re focusing on in this situation? _That_?!”

“Well, it’s easier to talk about your shitty taste in men then the that fact that I’m _in the wrong body_.”

“My taste in men is spectacular,” Oswald spat, “but since we’re on the topic: are you _fucking insane_? You and Bullock are—”

Jim cut him off, “What Harvey and I are or are not doing is none of your business, either.”

“I wish to every deity anyone has ever worshipped that it wasn’t my business,” Oswald hissed, getting more worked up by the second, “but it is so _very much_ my business. I am trapped in a bathroom that could be classified as an environmental hazard wearing _your_ fucking boxers, so I think it’s fair to say that it’s my business!”

“I…don’t wear boxers.”

There was a moment of silence, and then something in a language Jim didn’t recognize, but which he imagined was either a curse or a prayer. Then, with unexpected calm, Oswald said, “Put Ed on the line.”

“ _What_?”

“Put him on,” Oswald insisted, “If anyone is smart enough to figure out what happened to us and how to fix it, it’s Ed. And besides, I _cannot_ handle this without him.”

“Listen,” Jim growled into the phone, peering nervously at the door, “Nygma was already about three seconds away from dragging me to a hospital, he thinks you’ve having some kind of episode after getting zapped by that mad scientist yesterday. And we may not be crazy, but I do think this all started with that damn Arkham escapee.”

“That thought crossed my mind too,” Oswald snapped, “Which leaves us in a bit of a pickle considering said scientist is in the morgue, along with our best chance of getting back to our own bodies.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Excuse me? Zsasz saved both our lives and—” Oswald stopped talking and Jim wondered if he’d hung up until he whispered, “Jim. Harvey’s calling someone, he’s talking about you to…Lee?”

“Lee? What’s he saying to her?”

Oswald hushed him.

Faintly, Jim began to hear Harvey’s voice: “So, I was calling to ask a question. Kinda weird, kinda personal but, well, the thing is…since you two used to, you know…yeah, that. I figured you might know if he ever, hypothetically…started talking about himself in the third person then locked himself in the bathroom and started shouting like a loon? No? That’s not normal behavior for him? Ok, good to know...”

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. He swore he could hear Oswald rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.

“No, don’t worry, I can handle it,” Harvey assured Lee, “I’m sure he’s just having a little psychotic break, we all get them, and honestly he’s overdue considering he’s been the cause of most of mine…. Yep, I’ll let you know if it gets worse. Thanks, Lee.”

“Well,” Oswald whispered, “It appears your concerns are well-founded, and neither of us has been acting sanely in the eyes of our fellows. I’m pretty sure your bearded beau is about to slap a straitjacket on me.”

“Well, it would serve you right,” Jim snapped.

“But I’m _you_ , you idiot!”

“Uh...fair point,” Jim said, sheepish. “Ok, then, just...act natural!”

“Easier said than done, you bumbling—”

“You alright in there?” Harvey’s voice sounded in the background, “Please just say you’re alive, so I know you’re not drowning yourself in the toilet or something…”

“Everything’s fine, I’ll be out in a minute!” Oswald shouted at the door, then said very clearly and carefully into the phone, “Jim, if you don’t want me to kill your partner, you will meet me at the GCPD in twenty minutes, so we can find that damned machine that started all this and you can _give me my body back._ ”

The line went dead with an ominous click.

“Dammit,” Jim growled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oswald snapped the phone shut and turned to face the door. Don’t actually kill Bullock, he counseled himself, not when Jim’s still in a parallel position to inflict harm on Ed.

Leaning gingerly on the rim of the sink, Oswald dragged in a steadying breath. He scratched his chin, then his cheek, splashing water on his face when neither ministration reduced the itching there.

He turned over the phone in his hands, weighing his options. The GCPD still seemed his best bet, though he ached to hear Ed’s voice. The more he considered it, however, the less he wanted to plunge the man he loved into this nightmare. Surely, Ed had dealt with enough identity issues for one lifetime. No, for the time being, he’d keep this between him and Jim. At least they both shared a stake in returning things to normal, and without anyone catching on to this moment of weakness. Oswald shuddered to imagine the kind of damage his enemies could wreak on his empire if they knew how indisposed he was.

Reluctantly, he locked eyes with his unfamiliar reflection.

“Jim Gordon,” he murmured to himself, straightening up, “Hello, I’m _Detective_ James Gordon.” A small smile plucked up the corner of his new mouth. Perhaps something could be gained from this experience. A peek at a classified GCPD file or two, a stroll through the evidence lock-up—something that could be accomplished without the real Jim Gordon cottoning on.

With newfound purpose, Oswald unlocked the bathroom door and flung it open.

Harvey was sitting on the edge of the bed, mercifully clothed now, twiddling his thumbs. He looked up when Oswald exited and broke into a hopeful smile. It transformed his face, the wear and tear of a hard life melting into laughter lines and sunshine-freckles.

If Oswald didn’t solidly hate every atom of the man in front of him, he might even find it endearing. 

“Hey, buddy, has crazy hour come to an end?” Harvey asked, standing.

Oswald sent him a scorching glare, trying not to visibly tense up as he approached. “I’m fine. I was just trying to take a call with some modicum of privacy, thank you very much.”

“You do realize that’s my phone?” Harvey said, plucking it out of Oswald’s hands before he could object, “And I think someone told me it was rude to talk on the phone when you’re in the john—oh, wait, _you_ told me that.”

Oswald shuddered. “Every time I think you can’t get more disgusting.” He cast his eyes around the apartment, searching for where Jim might keep his clothes in this hovel.

“Ouch. You really are in a mood this morning. And, actually, who did you need to ream out so badly you shouted them down in my bathroom at the crack of dawn?”

“I was just talking to…the mayor.” Oswald pounced on a creamy-white button-up sleeve hanging out of a splintered wooden wardrobe. He pulled on it and unearthed an acceptably clean shirt, and a navy jacket to boot. Matching slacks hung above it on a cheap metal hanger, and Oswald had never been so pleased to find an off-the-rack pair of pants in his life.

“Penguin? That explains your case of the grouchies. The hell does he want?”

“There’s a, a case. An urgent one. And our _esteemed_ mayor,” Oswald emphasized the adjective, his nose in the air as he wriggled into the pants, “requires my assistance. So, I’m going to meet him at the GCPD to discuss it.” He finished buttoning the shirt, threw on the jacket, and went hunting after socks and shoes, forgoing a tie in favor of escaping Bullock’s company as quickly as possible.

“Well, okay, let’s go,” Harvey procured a rumpled suit jacket of his own from where it had been hiding, camouflaged among equally rumpled couch cushions, “I showered last week, that should hold me—”

“ _God_ , no,” Oswald interjected loudly, bringing Harvey to a standstill. “That is,” he continued with slightly more control, “You should just…take your time. _Definitely_ shower. Maybe do some laundry!” Oswald laughed weakly, hopping back towards the door on one foot as he shoved on a steel-toed Oxford and knotted the laces. “Live it up, take the day off, even. Alright, see you never, bye!”

“Jeez, tap the brakes, cowboy,” Harvey cut him off, moving with surprising grace through the apartment’s landmine of empty beer cans and discarded takeout containers, “Aren’t you forgetting some things?”

“I…” Oswald did a quick check—pants, shirt, shoes. Other than his own body and his sanity, he seemed to have all the required items for going out in the world.

“Your badge? Your gun?” Harvey shook his head and shuffled off to retrieve said items from an overturned plastic crate serving as a side table. “Wallet, maybe. Car keys wouldn’t be a bad idea either, unless you’re planning on hitchhiking. Which could go pretty good for you, actually, god knows I’d pick you up…”

“Yes, alright, give those to me,” Oswald reached for the items as he took up a position next to the door, unwilling to give an inch away from his escape route.

“Don’t I even get a kiss for my trouble?” Harvey leered, clipping Jim’s badge to Oswald’s belt and slipping a finger into his belt loop.

“Try and I’ll _gut_ you,” Oswald hissed, back flat against the door as he scrabbled for the handle.

Harvey backed off, brow drawn. “Uh…you’re still not okay, are you?” he finally concluded.

Oswald didn’t bother to respond, just barreling out into the grungy hallway and moving as fast as his slightly-longer-than-he-was-used-to legs could carry him.

Squinting into the morning light as he burst out onto the street, Oswald realized the day’s travails had only just begun. For one thing: what the hell kind of car did Jim drive? Oswald knew very little about makes or models, he just bought whatever the shiniest and most expensive vehicle available was. Ed would have more to say on the matter if he were there, as his encyclopedic brain was perfectly suited to cataloguing that sort of information.

Thinking of Ed prompted Oswald to approach the situation rationally. What did he know about the car and its owner that would allow him to identify it?

After a few moments thought, he came upon the solution: Jim Gordon was his opposite in almost every way, ergo, he just needed to find the cheapest, ugliest car in the area.

After wandering half a block away from the decrepit entrance to Harvey’s building, Oswald spotted a chunky black car that, if he were to guess, was from the least fashionable part of the already deeply unfashionable eighties.

He smiled to himself, proud, as the key turned easily in the lock and he slid behind the wheel.

“Oh, Jim,” he said to himself as the car growled reluctantly to life, dashboard rattling as if to express its indignance at being called to service, “If we get out of this, I’m going to have a pipe-bomb planted in this vehicle, and you will thank me for its destruction.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim snuck another nervous glance at the closed bathroom door. He’d been hiding in there for at least ten minutes, but he could still hear Ed moving about in the other room, dashing any hopes Jim had that he might be able to make an escape unseen.

He considered taking the shower he’d pretended to want, but the resulting necessity of having to remove the briefs he’d been so grateful to find himself in nipped that idea in the bud. He settled for sticking his head and shoulders under the spray and toweling off, hoping it would be enough to allay Ed’s overbearing concern.

Seeing no other recourse after this but to leave the haven of the bathroom, Jim steeled himself and limped forward. Peeking cautiously around the doorframe, he found Ed fully dressed and holding up a pair of ties, lifting them in turn as he matched them to a black-striped eggplant jacket.

Jim only made it two tip-toed steps into the room before Ed spun around, smiling softly. “Feeling better?” he asked, setting a silver-threaded tie down on a black button-up and hanging the other back on the rack.

“Much,” Jim said, forcing a matching smile.

“Good.” Ed moved closer, eyes marching swiftly up and down Jim’s frame, and narrowing slightly.

Jim felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, certain that somehow, someway, Ed had just caught him out.

“Why did you call that brutish baboon of a policeman?” Ed asked abruptly, making Jim tense and raise his hackles.

“You mean Harv—Detective Bullock, that is. I, uh, I didn’t call him. Er, I mean, I _did_ talk to him…I was actually calling, uh, Jim Gordon and he just answered the phone,” Jim continued in a flash of inspiration, hoping to take Ed’s focus off his partner.

“Then why were you calling Jim?” Ed amended, gaze still sharp.

“Uh. I had to talk to him about…” Jim chose his next words carefully, trying to replicate the particular mix of snooty and cruel that marked Oswald’s speech, “…I needed to speak to him about a matter regarding, ah, City Hall. An important matter. Gordon is, of course, quite the fool. But necessary.”

“What matter, exactly?” Ed prodded, tone casual, stiff countenance anything but.

“I’d rather not say,” Jim replied after a moment’s thought.

“Oswald…” Ed slid closer, tone dipping into something Jim was afraid he’d have to categorize as ‘seductive.’ “You know you can tell me anything…”

Jim laughed, a little panicked, skipping around Ed towards the clothes he’d apparently laid out for him.

“Of course. Of course! It’s just a, uh…surprise! I’ll tell you all about it when it’s done.” Jim turned around and tried to yank on the pants, getting one leg on before mistakenly putting all his weight on his right foot and nearly tumbling over in searing pain as his ankle crumpled.

“Careful!” Ed rushed forward, catching him and depositing him gently on the edge of the bed. He tended to Jim’s ankle with a brief massage, before helping pull his pants leg gently over the angered joint.

“I’ve got it,” Jim croaked when Ed’s hands went for his zipper, quickly doing up the pants himself. He wasn’t fast enough to stop Ed from beginning to button up the shirt, however, and had to hold his breath as Ed worked thin fingers up his chest.

“Whatever’s going on, whatever’s happening,” Ed intoned, reaching up to cup Jim’s face as he finished with the shirt, “You know you can trust me, you can _tell_ me, anything…”

His hands were surprisingly soft, and Jim hated knowing it. When Ed started to lean in—oh god, he was trying to _kiss_ him—he couldn’t help but jerk violently away, chanting, “No, no, no…” while he pushed hard against Ed’s chest.

Ed curled back, expression hurt but suspicion quick on its heels.

Jim added quickly, by way of explanation, "I….I have hoof and mouth disease!"

Ed’s unimpressed look could have wilted the sturdiest of liars, and Jim wasn’t feeling like a particularly sturdy anything. “Well, that’s patently untrue,” Ed sighed, “For several reasons, not the least of which is the _thorough_ examination I conduct of your mouth on a regular basis.”

Jim shivered involuntarily. “That is a very gross way to talk about kissing. God, I _hope_ you were talking about kissing…”

Ed frowned, but renewed his attempts to insinuate himself into Jim’s personal space, slipping a suit jacket over Jim’s shoulders and letting his hands linger on his sides.

“Oswald, if you tell me what’s wrong, I can help you…” The pain on Ed’s face as he reached out and was rebuffed yet again was almost enough to make Jim relent—almost. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“Because…” Telling him ‘Because I’m actually Jim Gordon, the person who put you in Arkham and wishes you were still there,’ would probably not go over well. “Because I…” God, nothing in the police academy or the military had come close to preparing Jim for this.

In a panic, Jim blurted out the first excuse that came to mind: “I’m having an affair.”

Ed paused and squinted at him. “I know…”

“ _What_?” Jim sputtered, reeling. How many people was Oswald sleeping with? How did he have the time to be the mayor, the king of the underworld, and have not one but _two_ secret lovers?

“ _I’m_ the affair,” Ed grinned. “And although I know you wanted to show me off, I think you have to admit, keeping it a secret not only protects us professionally, but personally…it’s really hot.” Ed danced his fingers over Jim’s lapels, and Jim cringed away.

“Oh, god, that’s…no, that’s not what I mean,” he clarified, retreating from Ed’s wandering hands, “I am having an affair with someone _else_.”

Ed laughed, the sound cracking slightly at the end. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.” Jim found confidence in a familiar contrarian attitude. “I am having an affair with—” _Shit_. He hadn’t thought the lie through this far. Who did Penguin even spend time with? Barbara? Well, _that_ wouldn’t fly. Butch? After last week’s incident with the Red Hood gang at the Siren’s club, that seemed unlikely…

“Jim,” Jim found himself saying. “I am having an affair with Jim…Gordon.”

Ed blinked, lips twitching upwards like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite do it. “You…you’re having an affair. With _Jim_. Ha...ha…” Ed enunciated each incredibly fake laugh carefully.

“It’s not a joke,” Jim insisted, eyes flicking towards the door, “I am having an affair with Jim. We are doing…all the things, that a person does, when they have an affair. It’s great, really great. Totally, uh, awesome, and that’s…that’s why I was talking to him, and it’s why I’m…I’m going to meet him, right now. So, I, uh, I’m sorry?”

Ed just stared. He looked uncannily like a computer did after crashing.

Seizing the moment of reprieve, Jim fled the room before Ed could reboot.

He felt about three and a half seconds of guilt for wrecking Ed and Oswald’s relationship, possibly permanently, before the feeling evaporated. They were both criminals and murderers many times over, after all, and deserved far worse. Jim just hoped he would be back in his own body and preferably a considerable distance away when Oswald found out what he’d done.

Jim clattered down the stairs to the main floor, making a break for where he was pretty sure the exit to the outside world was.

Spotting a hat rack, he took a sharp right and found himself facing the inside of the mansion’s door. A set of car keys beckoned from a side-table and Jim grabbed them before unbolting the many deadlocks securing the door and flinging it open.

He could’ve cried when he finally threw himself outside and breathed in deep lungfuls of fresh, mind-clearing air. Being fresh, and not smoggy, it wasn’t his _usual_ Gotham air, but it would do.

And the ride in front of him, wow. That would more than do.

Jaguar XK-E, Series 1, 1961 or ’62, V-6 engine, black finish with a custom leather interior.

Jim’s mind rattled off the facts automatically. He’d loved cars since he was a kid, still loved them now, even though he knew he’d never own anything like the sleek beauty before him.

Well, maybe _he_ would never own one…

Sliding behind the wheel, Jim smiled for the first time since he’d woken up Penguin’s bed. Hell, if he was going to be stuck in the body of a crimelord, he might as well enjoy the benefits that came along with it.

~~~~~

Something crunched ominously under the Dodge Diplomat’s threadbare wheels as Oswald careened to a stop in front of the GCPD, taking up three spots with his haphazard parking job. As if the morning’s events weren’t enough to make him spitting furious, he’d gotten trapped in a Bermuda Triangle of road repair and car accidents as he tried to navigate his way from Harvey’s neighborhood to the station. The lost time was apparently enough to allow his unwanted companion to beat him to his destination.

“Hell’s bells, partner, I thought I was the only one around here drunk before nine!” Harvey called, just exiting his own car.

Oswald wrenched open the door and stomped out, shouting back, “It’s been a while since I drove, I’m a little rusty!” He barely remembered himself in time not to add on, ‘and it doesn’t help that these legs _aren’t my fucking own_!’

“You…drove to my place yesterday?” Harvey half-asked, half-pointed out.

“Well…it’s a _clutch_!”

“You _prefer_ clutch, I once received a very long and deeply boring speech about their virtues from _you_.”

“Oh, shut up!” Oswald waved an irritated hand and stomped past Harvey towards the station entrance.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t our illustrious mayor…”

Oswald froze, a ‘how did you know?’ on the tip of his tongue before he looked over his shoulder and realized Harvey was shooting a snarky smile at…Oswald Cobblepot, stepping clumsily out of the front seat of his Jaguar.

Well, _that_ was an even more disturbing sight than he’d imagined. In between swearing out every driver he came across and plotting bloody revenge, Oswald had tried to brace himself for the shock of seeing his body being marched around by Jim Gordon’s consciousness. In reality, it was just too fucking weird to comprehend.

Everything looked _wrong_. Not like a mirror image, since all of his features weren’t reflected back but presented in their true form, it was more like watching a video of himself. A three-dimensional video with surround sound and nightmarishly high definition.

Oblivious to Oswald and Jim’s dilemma, Harvey continued to hassle the person he thought was Penguin. “Where’s your driver?” He asked while Jim—Oswald had to remind himself that that _was_ Jim Gordon in his body, not a hallucination or a clone or anything else—walked towards them. “Did he try and kill you too? Bad luck with that whole Butch Gilzean incident, my sincerest apologies.”

“Yes, well, I deserved it,” Jim-not-Oswald said, smiling contritely and shooting Oswald a sharp look. “But, uh, how are you this morning? Doing ok?” Jim visually checked Harvey over, assessing for injuries.

Oswald rolled his eyes, holding his hand up in a mock salute. “He’s fine, I swear.”

Harvey looked between the two of them, eyebrows cranking up under the brim of his hat. “Uh…am I missing something?”

“Always, I’m sure,” Oswald sneered, before turning back to Jim, who was gravitating instinctively towards Harvey. He snapped his fingers at the wayward detective, “I believe we have something to discuss. Can we please go inside and talk, _privately_?”

“Let’s go,” Harvey agreed.

“Not you,” Oswald snapped, drawing him up short.

“Wow,” Harvey narrowed his eyes at him, “You seriously woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Wrong bed entirely, as it happens!” Oswald said with a slightly hysterical bent. He turned and stomped off, Jim hurrying grimly after him, sparing a worried glance back at Harvey, who remained rooted to the spot like he’d been slapped.

“So, where is the accursed machine?” Oswald asked as he marched across the main GCPD floor like he owned the place, which, in the body of a detective, he somewhat did.

“If you hadn’t hung up on me,” Jim hissed, looking at the ground to avoid the nasty stares his fellow police officers were leveling at his criminal countenance, “I could’ve told you that the machine wasn’t brought here. It was too bulky and, I think Lucius called it, ‘electronically temperamental,’ to be safely moved.”

“Well, isn’t that just peachy,” Oswald grumbled, stopping so abruptly Jim nearly ran into the back of him. Oswald spun around, intent on demanding more information, but found Jim staring curiously at him.

“Is that really what the back of my head looks like?” Jim murmured, lilting to the left as he tried to get another look.

Oswald twitched away irritably but couldn’t deny a touch of curiosity about his own body’s unseen-angles. This led to the two of them circling each other next to Harvey and Jim’s desks, craning their necks and squinting, looking the world’s strangest and least-fun carousel.

A commanding voice intruded on their inspection of themselves, asking, “Do I want to know what’s happening here?”

“Uh, no sir,” Jim replied, standing at attention as Barnes stared at them from his open office door.

“I wasn’t asking you, Mister Mayor,” Barnes said, packing as much disdain as he could into the title. Jim drooped, kicked-puppy eyes wide.

Oswald riled at the implied insult, but replied in sickly sweet tones, “No _sir_. We’re just consulting. You know, on some _important_ police business.”

Barnes blinked. “Well, if you decide to let your captain in on this ‘important police business,’ you know my door’s always open.” He shook his head once, and then returned to his office.

Jim rounded on Oswald, screwing his mouth up in righteous fury. “You couldn’t show even an ounce of respect for my boss?”

“I assure you, that was me at my most respectful,” Oswald shot back, “But while we’re speaking of respect: you couldn’t even bother with a comb before taking _my_ body out in public? I mean for god’s sake, would you just—” Oswald reached out to try and rearrange the dark strands into something better resembling his usual coiffure, but Jim ducked and batted at his hands.

“Back off! Your vanity is not the priority here.”

“My vanity?” Oswald huffed, “Because I don’t want you walking around, making me look like I spent the night under a bridge?”

“Looks aren’t everything,” Jim grumbled.

Oswald cocked his head. “Well, if you’re so above such petty concerns, maybe I should give you a little impromptu haircut, hmm?” Oswald ran his fingers through the blond gel-crisped strands on his head, eyes locked with Jim, before making a dive for the rusty scissors languishing on Harvey’s desk.

Jim hurled himself after him, half-tackling him to the desk as they scrambled to get their hands on the scissors first.

“Hey!” Harvey boomed above their tussle, hands coming down to drag Jim away from Oswald, tossing him roughly against the banister. He pointed a finger at Jim, threatening, “Assaulting a police officer’s still a crime, even if you are the mayor.”

Oswald grinned at Jim’s distressed whine. “Yes, you reprobate, keep your filthy hands off of me.”

“Yeah, you repo—repair—what he said!” Harvey seconded.

Jim reluctantly put his hands in the air, eyes promising all kinds of violence at Oswald. Oswald’s smile widened. “This is my house,” he reminded Jim, putting on a mocking air of authority, “and I give the orders around here.”

“Hey, Gordon,” a uniformed officer rapped the railing with a clipboard, interrupting whatever invective Jim had been about to launch in response, “Doc Thompkins wants to see you in her office, says it’s urgent.”

“What?” Oswald did a double take as he realized the message was directed at him. “Can’t it wait?”

“Uh…I think it can’t. That’s what the, you know, ‘urgent’ part was about…” The officer said, eyebrows raised.

“Go on, Jim,” Harvey said, “I’ll watch our fine feathered friend here.”

Oswald cut a questioning glance at Jim, who looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be panicked or furious. “Yeah, just…just go,” Jim agreed uneasily, “Hear what she has to say, and come back. Quickly.”

“Hey, what did we _just_ say about giving orders around here?” Harvey gave Jim’s shoulder a not-so-light shove.

Oswald winced as Jim did, remembering that he didn’t want to make it back to his own body only to find it bruised from the detective’s rough handling. “Yes, fine, I’ll go…but when I come back, we’re going to talk about _that matter_ ,” he glared meaningfully at Jim, “and figure out how to proceed.”

Jim matched his contemptuous glare but nodded.

Oswald began to march away, feigning a confidence he didn’t feel as he realized he didn’t have the foggiest notion where Doctor Thompkins’ office might be located.

Jim apparently took pity on him, since he called after his retreating back, “Have fun going down the _stairs_ , to the _left_ , to the third door on the _right_!”

Oswald tossed a brisk nod over his shoulder, hoping the doctor’s query would be quick, and that she would be too distracted with her work to notice that her ex’s body had a new pilot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was the perfect time to tell him.

Penguin was gone, and there was no one around to overhear what would likely be a very, very strange conversation. It was just him and Harvey.

Normally, ‘just him and Harvey’ was a pleasant state of affairs involving beer, banter, and, of late, clothing-optional cuddling. Today, however, Harvey looked as though he’d rather have anyone else for company, and Jim couldn’t blame him.

There was nothing else for it, though, so Jim plucked up his courage and leaned against the side of Harvey’s desk, where he was conducting his usual morning ritual of mowing through at least three donuts and dripping coffee all over his paperwork. The sight was so endearing, Jim felt an actual clutch in his chest. That affection was summarily squashed when Harvey’s eyes darted up at Jim and filled with unabashed hatred.

Jim’s instincts told him to back off, but he never listened to that little voice even when he was in his own body, so he paid it no heed now. “Harvey, I’ve got something to tell you.”

Harvey laughed a mean little laugh. “I’ve got something to tell you too, but you might wanna cover your ears first, because it ain’t very nice.”

“It’s important,” Jim insisted, “and it might be hard to believe, but you’ve gotta hear me out.”

“Yeah, except I don’t.”

“Please, Harvey—” Jim lifted his hand as if to grab his partner’s shoulder but froze in his tracks when Harvey recoiled. “I need your help,” he pleaded, keeping his distance even though all he wanted was to lean in closer, “You’re the only one I trust.”

Harvey’s anger abated as it became interspersed with confusion. “Listen, I don’t know what your deal is, and I don’t care. Jim’s the only one around here who’s ever given you the time of day, so I suggest you take your problems to him.”

“But that’s the thing! I _am_ Jim Gordon.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Harvey replied, “And I’m Mother Theresa’s slutty twin sister, Mama Tiffany.”

Jim closed his eyes for a moment to recover from that. “I am _serious_ , Harv. I,” he smacked his chest, “am Jim Gordon.”

“You’ve said that twice now, and yet, I still just see a tiny assclown who thinks he’s the city’s royalty standing in front of me, having some sort of mental breakdown.” He added in an undertone, “They seem to be going around, lately.”

“Now, see there!” Jim gestured excitedly, “If I really was Penguin, I’d probably try and kill you for an insult like that! But I’m not Penguin, I’m Jim _,_ so I don’t care.”

Harvey ignored him, scrubbing his hands over his face and mumbling, “God, I haven’t even finished my coffee yet…”

“Look, I’ll prove it.” Jim cast around for a way to do just that, finally settling on, “I’ll tell you something that only I know.” Jim looked pointedly around at the crowded station and gestured for Harvey to lean in closer, which he finally did with exaggerated reluctance.

“You like getting your hair pulled,” Jim said in a low voice, “but you whine like a baby if someone tugs on your beard.”

Harvey barely flinched. “So, what? You’ve talked to one of the ladies of the night whose company I’ve frequented, that’s basic stuff.”

With a frustrated huff, Jim grabbed Harvey by the half-undone-tie and yanked him close so he could whisper something in his ear that he was pretty damn sure only the real Jim Gordon would know.

“The first time I went down on you, you said you finally understood why all those ‘gorgeous dames’ had stuck with me for so long.”

Harvey gulped.

“And how about what we did on our last day off?” Jim murmured, vindicated, “Pretty sure those department-issue handcuffs should be dosed in bleach—or holy water—after you took them and—”

“Alright!” Harvey choked, jerking away.

Jim released him, satisfied that his point was made, judging by how very pale Harvey had gone.

“How do you— _no one_ knows about that.”

“Except _me_!” Jim said, exasperated, “Because I was there.”

“Oh, god.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Jim sighed and reached into Harvey’s jacket for where he kept his flask. He unscrewed the top and pressed it into Harvey’s hand. “I think you need a drink.”

Harvey nodded weakly, sinking feebly back in his chair as he clutched the flask close to his heart like a beloved teddy bear. After taking a healthy swig, he hefted it in Jim’s direction and shot back, “I think that _you_ need a drink.”

Jim swayed longingly forward but had to decline. “I’m technically on duty.”

“Jesus,” Harvey said wonderingly, “you really are Jim. But then who…?”

“Oswald Cobblepot,” Jim answered brusquely, “Is running around in my body.”

Fresh horror rolled over Harvey’s features.

“It’s very, very bad,” Jim agreed with Harvey’s unspoken dread.

“But he— and I tried….and….he was…!”

Jim cautiously set a hand on Harvey’s wrist, patting gently. “Trust me, I know exactly how you feel. Because guess who _I_ woke up with?”

Harvey winced preemptively. “Oh, sweet virgin, I don’t think I want to know—”

“ _Ed Nygma_ ,” Jim told him anyway.

Harvey looked aghast, and then confused, and then aghast again. “Wait, you’re trying to tell me that—no, no never mind. Don’t say anything else. The world hasn’t started getting all wiggly at the edges, which means I’m not half as drunk as I need to be to deal with this.” Harvey tipped his flask upside down, apparently intent on giving himself alcohol poisoning as quickly as possible. Jim shared the sentiment but was unfortunately invested in staying sober long enough to actually do something about his problems.

“Listen, we’re gonna have to work through all this trauma later—”

“—or never,” Harvey suggested.

“—or never,” Jim agreed, “because right now we need to focus on how the hell this happened to us, and how to reverse it.”

Harvey didn’t seem to hear him, staring into the middle distance as he said “I was wrong. I thought it was that time in ’98, with the chimpanzees and the archery convention, but no. _This_ is the worst day.”

“Harvey!” Jim snapped his fingers in his partner’s face, jolting him back to the present.

“Alright!” Harvey heaved himself to his feet, shaking his head like a wet dog after a rainstorm, in the forlorn hope that it might jar loose the mental images terrorizing his brain. “I’m sorry. I should be worrying about you right now, not… I mean, we both woke up in bed with psycho killers, but at least I didn’t know it. Though, I should have realized something was off when you—er, he—started hissing like an angry cat when I tried to kiss you—him— _fuck_ I’m giving myself a headache.” 

“Yeah, that definitely should have been a warning sign. Ed was onto me from the start, though I think I managed to throw him off.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I, uh, well…” Jim scratched the back of his neck, flushing as he remembered the equal parts harrowing and mortifying events of the morning, “honestly, I had a bit of trouble trying to think up an excuse and, uh, I was under a lot of pressure…”

“What did you _say_ , Jim,” Harvey pressed, sensing danger.

“I might have told him that I, or, Oswald, was having an affair with…me. Jim.”

“You said…” Harvey held up a hand and bit the inside of his cheek, “You told Nygma that you, Penguin, were having an affair with you, the cop?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You told a psychopath with a known history of extreme jealousy and violence that the dude he was doing the freaky with was _cheating_ on him with _you_?”

“Are you just trying to make me feel worse, or do you actually have a point?”

“My point is…shouldn’t ‘Jim’ be back by now?”

Jim shrugged, uncomprehending until: “…Oh, _shit_.”


	2. code 10-63 and other mysteries

Down the stairs, to the left, third door on the right, Oswald mentally repeated as he made his way to Doctor Thompkins. He found himself in front of a door marked “M.E.’s Office” and figured he was in the right place. He knocked sharply and rocked back on his heels, glancing around.

After a long pause, a high, nervous voice answered, “Come in!”

Oswald frowned and obliged.

The office was dark as he walked in, half-underground and lit only by a meager desk lamp. What illumination there was filtered through the various glass bottles and medical ephemera stored around the room, casting an unsettling sea-green aura over everything.

A muffled cry sounded to his left and Oswald caught a brief glimpse of Doctor Thompkins, gagged and bound to her chair, before he was frozen in place by the cold, insistent pressure of a blade against his carotid artery.

A low voice growled in his ear, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Ed!” Oswald cried, relief flooding his system and morphing quickly into acidic fear as he processed the situation. Ed was here, which was theoretically great, but he seemed intent on killing Jim, which was unfortunate, considering Oswald’s currant tenancy in the detective’s body. “Ed, listen to me—” Oswald tried to explain, but Ed replaced the pressure of the knife with his fingers, half-throttling Oswald as he shoved him against the wall by his neck.

“I knew you’d hate seeing me freed from that hell-pit of an asylum you tossed me in, and I knew you’d despise seeing me become powerful, more powerful than _you_ , in City Hall. I knew you’d want to take your hamfisted revenge…” The knife glinted dully as Ed raised it to eye-level, centering the point of the blade on Oswald’s right pupil. “But I didn’t think you’d sink quite this low.”

“What?” Oswald choked out, befuddled, though with the weight on his larynx it mostly just came out as a garbled cough.

“Here’s a riddle for you,” Ed quipped, “what breaks one in two, but takes three to do?”

“I…don’t…know!” Oswald gasped from beneath Ed’s crushing grip.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Ed sneered, “I’m sure you’re completely _unintentionally_ ruining any scrap of happiness I manage to get my hands on, like you always have. I should have seen it coming. You crave power and glory, and who has more of that to offer than Oswald? But I know that you don’t love him. And he deserves to be _loved_.”

Even seconds away from a brutal death, Oswald couldn’t help but smile, hopelessly lovestruck as he figured out what Ed was driving at. Nonsensical as any sort of amorous connection between himself and James Gordon was, it appeared that he was about to be killed for the love of _himself_ , and there was something absolutely romantic about it underneath all the irony and horror.

“You can laugh now,” Ed snarled, thoroughly misinterpreting Oswald’s expression, “But once I find out what dirt you have on Oswald, or what sort of…of seductive trickery you pulled, I will—"

Oswald coughed as Ed’s hold loosened enough for him to breathe, spitting dismissively, “Oh, _please_ , like Jim Gordon has an ounce of seduction in his body.”

Ed blinked.

“Honestly, I was really touched for a moment there, but give me some credit. Or rather, some taste. Me, have an affair with Jim Gordon?” Oswald shuddered. “You of all people should know I’d sooner fling myself off the clock tower than even contemplate such a thing.”

There was a beat of silence. “I feel we’re experiencing some sort of miscommunication,” Ed finally admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ed!” Lee called out behind them, having just worked free of her gag, “Please, stop this!”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t,” Ed drawled, though his confidence was tinged with confusion.

“You don’t understand,” Lee continued, even when Ed pulled a snub-nosed gun from the waistband of his slacks and brandished it at her, “Harvey called me this morning, he thinks Jim’s having some sort of psychotic break! And if Jim’s not in his right mind, you can’t hold him responsible for his actions!”

Ed turned back to Oswald with an appraising eye. “Are you actually having some sort of lapse in sanity? Because this won’t be half as fun if you’re not lucid enough to appreciate the artistry of the pain I’m about to inflict on you.”

“I am not insane,” Oswald said, qualifying it with, “as far as I am aware. But, more importantly, I am not who I appear to be.”

“You’re not the smear of gutter filth who tried to steal the love of my life out from under my nose?” Ed asked, conversationally.

“I am not,” Oswald confirmed. “I am, in fact, the love of your life! _I_ am Oswald Cobblepot!”

Oswald waited for a reaction, but Ed just stared at him, nonplussed.

“It’s me!” Oswald insisted, flapping his hands inarticulately towards his person, “Jim and I swapped bodies. I’m him, and he’s me!”

Ed stared at him for another second before speaking over his shoulder to Lee, “You may be on to something with this psychotic break theory.” Lee nodded in fervent agreement.

“Ed, you have to believe me,” Oswald pleaded, “You’re the only one I trust, the only one who can help me.”

“Stop. Stop this, stop looking at me like that,” Ed ordered, “It’s extremely off-putting.”

“I’m just looking at you how I always look at you,” Oswald said softly, “Looking at you like I _love_ you.”

“Stop this right now,” Ed commanded, voice cracking almost imperceptibly, “or the good doctor will be the next body on that mortician’s table.” He cocked the gun and Lee closed her eyes.

“Do it,” Oswald said without hesitation, “I don’t give a damn about her. Outside of my mother, you’re the only person I’ve ever loved, and if I have to pull the trigger on Thompkins myself to prove it, then I will.”

Oswald reached for the gun and Ed reacted instinctively, pushing the blade of his half-forgotten knife back against Oswald’s throat.

“You are insane,” Ed said slowly, “And that’s not a diagnosis I give lightly.”

“I’m not,” Oswald choked out, latching on to the flicker of doubt he saw in Ed’s eyes, “This situation may be insane, but I’m not, and you’re not. You’re Edward Nygma, and I’m Oswald Cobblepot, and I know you better than anyone.”

“Shut up,” Ed hissed.

“That night after Butch’s betrayal at the Sirens’ club,” Oswald said, breathing shallow against the point of Ed’s blade, “you told me you’d do anything for me, and you looked so beautiful in the firelight, I had to kiss you. Had to tell you that I loved you.”

“No, that was Oswald. _My_ Oswald, who you tried to take from me—” Ed looked like he was speaking to himself more than anyone else, words over-enunciated as if that would make them true.

“Yes, that was me, your Oswald, who’s been with you almost every minute since we realized we were in love. I know everything about you.” Ed hesitated, grip on his blade relaxing by a millimeter and Oswald pushed on, “For breakfast, you like to have a plain grapefruit, which baffles me because I think it tastes like bleach unless it's drowned in sugar. You’ve been terrorizing our new interior decorators within an inch of their lives, and you adore every minute. You think chintz should be classified as an environmental toxin because it's so hideous, but you have a strange fondness for even the ugliest of tweed.”

Carefully gauging Ed’s jumpiness, Oswald reached out to run his thumb over a particular place on Ed’s thigh. "You have a little scar here shaped like an arrow from an incident with a nail gun during your brief tenure with tech crew in your high school’s production of _Grease_. This mark,” Oswald squeezed Ed’s leg and felt a surge of success when Ed’s breath caught, “is one of my favorite places to kiss you, remember?”

“Oswald?” Ed asked, wondering. 

“It's me, my love,” Oswald murmured, before leaning in to kiss Ed.

"What the fuck," Lee said, just as Ed and Oswald’s lips touched.

At the same moment, Harvey and Jim burst into the room. They froze with twin expressions of horror when they found Ed passionately kissing someone who looked exactly like Jim Gordon, their own knowledge that this was not the case doing nothing to decrease how disturbing the sight was.

Jim opened and shut his mouth but no sound came out, while Harvey just let out a vague noise of distress.

“Uh, hello?” Lee called, wiggling in her restraints, “A little help?”

Harvey bounced forward, immensely grateful for something to do other than watch his partner swap spit with one of his least favorite people in the world.

Jim finally recovered his voice, and his sense, slamming the door shut behind him before shouting, “Hey, cut it out, you two!”

Oswald broke away from Ed just enough to sneer at Jim, “And why should I listen to you?”

“Because that’s my body!” Jim retorted, petulant, “You’re kissing him with _my_ mouth!”

Oswald pulled Ed protectively towards his chest, hissing at Jim, “You only have yourself to blame for that! Considering that the reason he’s here is to kill _you_ for sleeping with _me_!”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah! I wonder where he got _that_ idea.”

“ _Oh_.” Jim finally took in the details of the scene: Ed’s dropped knife, the gun still clutched in his free hand, Lee being untied from her chair.

“Idiot,” Oswald sighed.

“Oswald,” Ed repeated, stunned, “It’s you.”

“Yes, dear,” Oswald confirmed, patient now that Ed was no longer threatening his life. 

“It’s really you in there,” Ed repeated.

“Mmhmm.”

“No one else has ever kissed me like that,” Ed whispered, flushing slightly as he finally noticed their audience.

Oswald grinned, pleased, and patted Ed’s cheek. “And no one else ever will.”

“Harvey,” Lee latched onto the detective’s forearm, “You were totally right, Jim’s having some sort of breakdown. I think he’s sleeping with Ed?” she gestured wildly towards the embracing couple, then swung her pointer finger over to Jim, “And maybe also Penguin?”

“It’s not what it looks like, don’t worry,” Harvey assured her, “he’s only sleeping with me.”

“Oh, okay—wait, _what_?”

“Nice going, partner,” Jim sighed, covering his face with both hands.

“Oh, right,” Harvey winced. “Sorry, we were keeping that hush-hush. I must be drunker than I thought.” He reached out and wrapped Lee’s hands around his flask. “Guard this with your life,” he told her solemnly, “And no matter how much I beg or plead, don’t give it or any other alcohol to me, no matter what. Jim needs me, and he needs me conscious and upright. Unfortunately.”

“Yes,” Lee agreed, “Jim needs you because he’s lost his mind and is banging half of City Hall’s criminal element! I mean look!” Lee pointed to where ‘Jim’ had a hand resting very low on Ed’s back. 

“Oh, yeah, that,” Harvey glanced over his shoulder, “Seriously, Jim’s not sleeping with either of them. You see, Jim is not _Jim_ —he’s Penguin. And Penguin is Jim. The two of them swapped bodies.” Apparently attempting to inject some levity into the proceedings, Harvey knocked elbows with Lee and joked, “Yeah, only you and me have had the pleasure of seeing Jim Gordon in his birthday suit.”

Oswald chimed in, “Unfortunately, after waking up in said suit this morning, I believe I’m a member of that exclusive club.”

“I may have technically caught an entirely unintended glimpse in the GCPD showers a while back,” Ed confessed abruptly. 

“Okay, update, everyone in this room has seen Jim naked,” Harvey informed Lee, who took a step away from him as if she could physically avoid what he was saying.

“Back up. Like _way_ up,” she directed, “Did you…did you use the phrase ‘swapped bodies’?”

“I did. And trust me, I wish I hadn’t. But they really, actually swapped bodies.”

Lee goggled at Jim and Oswald in turn, before returning to Harvey and asking in clear, precise tones, “What _exactly_ do you mean when you say, ‘they swapped bodies’?”

“He means what it sounds like,” Oswald cut in, “When I woke up this morning, I, Oswald Cobblepot, was Jim Gordon. My brain or mind or whatever was in his body. And his body was, horrifyingly enough, in bed with Harvey.”

Harvey closed his eyes. “A fact I’m trying so hard to forget.”

“And I learned the hard way that our city’s mayor is—is _doing_ his chief of staff,” Jim pointed accusatorily at Ed and Oswald.

“Oh, dear,” Ed faltered, “I hadn’t quite processed these events to that extent.”

“Yep,” Harvey hooked a thumb over at Ed’s crumbling expression, “the way you look is how I felt five minutes ago. Don’t worry, it only gets worse.”

Ed was very pale. He sat down hard on a nearby stool, while Oswald rubbed his back in soothing circles. It didn’t have a particularly soothing effect, likely because Ed kept spotting Oswald-but-not-Oswald-actually-Jim out of the corner of his eye and flinching.

“Why are you freaking out?” Jim complained, crossing his arms and feeling hard done by, “I’m the one who got groped by a murderer first thing in the morning.”

Oswald rounded on Jim with an indignant gasp. “Oh, don’t you get all high and mighty! Your precious partner was plenty handsy this morning.”

Ed gasped, grabbing Oswald’s arm, “You and he didn’t…” he pointed a little frantically to his mouth, the horror of the possibility of lip-to-lip contact with Harvey Bullock apparently unspeakable.

“ _God_ no. If I had, I’d have already shot myself with this,” Oswald pulled Jim’s service revolver from his holster and waved it airily. Harvey put his hands up and Jim jumped forward, stumbling over his own feet trying to wrest the firearm away.

“No guns for you,” Jim insisted, holding out his hand when Oswald raised the weapon above his head and out of his reach.

“No,” Oswald trilled, “No guns for _you_ , civilian.”

“No guns for Jim,” Lee agreed, sneaking up behind an unsuspecting Oswald and swiping the gun from him, “But no guns for you either.” She looked down at the weapon distastefully, “This is mine now. Hurray.”

“Wow, if I didn’t already believe that was you in there…” Harvey grinned, chucking Jim's chin, “I’d know that pout on any face.”

This comment merely exaggerated said pout.

“But I think Lee’s right,” Harvey continued in a more businesslike tone, “in that body, in this station? Carrying a gun might put a target on your back.”

Jim looked mutinous, moving forward with an argument on his lips, but he faltered, wincing with pain and a muffled curse.

Ed caught the familiar grimace and leaned forward on instinct. He froze between Jim-who-looked-like-Oswald and Oswald-who-looked-like-Jim before darting to the left. He returned, producing Oswald’s cane from where it had been leaning against a cabinet.

“Here,” he brandished it at Jim, “I was going to use it to inflict symbolic pain on one or possibly both of you, but that turned out to be unnecessary. Fortunately, it’s here now, for your more conventional use.”

“I’m fine,” Jim said gruffly, trying to slink away.

“You _aren’t_ fine. And don’t think you’re going to get away with wearing out Oswald’s body. I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that.”

Oswald giggled, and it sounded even more disturbing coming out of Jim’s vocal cords. Jim took the cane then, mostly to stop Ed from saying anything else that made him want to crack himself on the skull with something heavy.

Apparently thinking along similar lines, Harvey said, plaintively, “Lee, I know you’ve told me before, but do you _really_ not have any booze down here?”

“Aside from the flask you made me promise not to give you less than five minutes ago? No. Just the high-percentage medical kind that’ll make you go blind if you drink it.”

“You say that like it’s a downside!”

“I’m forced to agree with the oafish detective,” Oswald sighed, “After waking up next to him, I definitely deserve to be blackout drunk.”

Harvey scoffed, “Hey, I'm feeling kinda insulted.”

“You should be feeling very insulted,” Ed informed him seriously.

“Gentlemen,” Lee broke in, hands raised like a referee, “can we please keep things civil?”

“I—” Oswald started to say, and Lee snapped her fingers, the sound like a whip in the confined space.

“Let me put that another way,” Lee said, chilly and sweet. “This is my office, so I make the rules. And rule number one is: unless you have something useful to contribute to the conversation, shut up.”

Ed and Oswald shot Lee a chorus of glares, which bounced harmlessly off of her.

“Alright,” Lee crossed her arms definitively, “Let’s approach this as logically as possible. What’s our primary objective here?”

Harvey raised his hand, “To un-fuck this mess.”

“Uh, yes,” Jim agreed, “Specifically, to swap our bodies back.”

“Okay. And the person who could perform this miracle is…?”

“The original scientist would be our most valuable resource,” Ed offered, still glaring at Lee as if daring her to tell him off again.

Harvey scratched his beard, “Considering we spent yesterday afternoon scrubbing that guy’s brains off the floor...”

“We require someone else's expertise,” Oswald concluded.

“Lucius?” Jim suggested.

“Foxy!” Ed perked up. Oswald gave a jealous little twitch.

A minute later found their motley crew sidling awkwardly down the hall. Harvey was in the lead, doing a very bad job of looking nonchalant. A lone officer skirted past them, eyeing each person with increasing suspicion until quelled by the fantastic combined power of Oswald’s fury set within Jim Gordon’s naturally disapproving features.

They knocked on Lucius’ open door, and the man himself lowered the file folder he’d been inspecting to his desk, revealing more and more of his curious expression. “Gentlemen...?”

“Hi,” Jim said gamely, taking a faltering step forward at the icy turn on Lucius’ face when he spotted Ed.

“Mr. Mayor. And company. What can I do for you?” This last bit felt less like a genuine query and more like a polite way of saying “what can I say that will get you to leave me alone as quickly as possible?”

When Jim and Harvey shared glances, at a loss, Ed rolled his eyes and stepped forward.

“Because time is of the essence, I'll refrain from sugar-coating our current dilemma,” he stated briskly. “The Mayor and detective Gordon appear to have swapped bodies. We are here to ask for your assistance in remedying this situation.”

There was a beat of incredulous silence. To Lucius’ credit, he did not openly laugh in their faces, but merely asked in his usual, unflappable manner, “Excuse me?”

“Their consciousnesses have switched places,” Ed repeated, impatient. “Oswald is trapped in here,” Ed jerked a disdainful thumb at Jim’s body, “and Jim is residing here,” Ed waved a hand down the length of Oswald’s body like a game show host displaying a Cadillac.

Lucius’ brow furrowed. “You understand how I may find that...unlikely.”

“It's batshit, Lucius,” Harvey declared, smacking his hand against the doorframe for emphasis, “more than you can possibly imagine, but it's _happening_. Happened.”

“It’s true, Lucius,” Lee piped up, shoving the rest of the crowd into the office so she could pull the door shut behind her, “and at first I didn’t believe it either. But please, take our word—you don’t want to have to see them prove it.”

Lucius’ brows crept slowly upwards. “Well, now I’m just intrigued. But very well, I’ll certainly entertain it as a working theory. Though you should be advised that I am also considering the possibility of mass hysteria, possibly communicated through the air or public water supply.”

“I’m rootin’ for that too, bud,” Harvey mimed toasting a glass.

“Okay, so we need your help fixing this,” Jim stepped forward, hands on his hips. “All we know is that we got electrocuted by some Arkham escapee and woke up in the wrong bodies and—why are you looking at me like that?” Jim frowned at Lucius’ wide-eyed expression.

“Well…” Lucius began slowly, “if you’re not having a psychotic episode—and I am also not having a psychotic episode—then you are Jim Gordon despite having the appearance of Oswald Cobblepot and the effect is unnerving.”

“You’re telling me!” Harvey said, from where he was pulling a steel decanter off the shelf and sniffing it. 

“Harvey, put that down!” Lee scolded. “For all you know, the fumes could be toxic.”

“If only I were so lucky,” Harvey replied sadly.

“Jim,” Ed tapped Jim’s shoulder, “you know I despise you truly, madly, deeply. But I have to know. Why is this,” he swiped a disgusted finger between Jim and Harvey, “a thing that is happening?”

“Ed? Shut up before someone hits you.” Jim looked to his partner for support and found him knocking something back from an Erlenmeyer flask. “Harvey, _what_ are you drinking?” he asked, despairing.

“Scotch,” Harvey admitted, “Lucius lets me keep a stash in here.”

Lucius harrumphed. “You said I _had_ to let you keep that here or you’d start leaving half-eaten tuna sandwiches inside all my files.”

Ed caught Jim’s eye and gestured with both hands at Harvey, “I reiterate: _why_?”

“An excellent question, my dear,” Oswald slid a comforting arm around Ed’s waist, “but don’t you think we have more pressing matters?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Ed agreed, slightly chastened, pecking Oswald’s cheek.

“I spoke prematurely before— _that_ is unnerving,” Lucius declared, sitting up ramrod straight.

Ed’s smirk unfurled as he darted forward to trace the shell of Oswald’s ear with the tip of his tongue, not breaking eye contact with Lucius.

Oswald bit back a laugh as Harvey charged forward on a fresh wave of liquid courage, “You get your criminal tongue outta my partner’s ear!”

“Alright, I believe you!” Lucius bolted out of his chair, throwing up his hands, “I am still concerned about several people’s sanity, but for unrelated reasons. Please, share with me the pertinent details so this nightmarish situation can be resolved before our collective future therapy bills get even steeper than they already are.”

“A wise decision, Foxy,” Ed decreed with a coy wink.

“Okay.” Lucius came around his desk so he could perch on its edge. “Let’s start with a simple question: who did this to you?”

“Hmm, what was the ridiculous moniker that deceased dodo went by?” Oswald scowled as he tried to remember, “Doctor…Doctor Double…something? Double bubble…?”

“Double-D?” Harvey offered helpfully.

“Double _X_ ,” Jim corrected, “We got an ID on him before I went in. His real name was Simon Ecks, he ended up in Arkham after that thing last year with the stolen cement mixer and a really unfortunate ostrich.”

“Oh, Christ, I remember that,” Harvey grimaced, “put me off turkey for a week.”

“He managed to bust out a couple days ago during a prisoner transfer that went south,” Jim went on, “Then yesterday, he snatched Oswald, grabbed me, strapped us into his machine, and flipped the switch.”

“It rather resembled an electric chair—an electric chaise lounge?” Oswald posited. “Felt about as fun.”

“Fascinating.” Lucius procured a notebook and pulled the cap off a pen with his teeth, “I briefly examined the contraption yesterday, and had little success in identifying its function. Did he offer any clues in that direction, perhaps a name for the procedure or the device?”

“Well, the machine was called something like….ram…graham…fax….machine?” Jim offered.

“ _En_ gram,” Oswald cottoned on, “engrammatic fax, uh….facsimile? Facsimilator?” He turned to Lucius, “What do you think?”

“Rather clunky name,” Lucius replied, “could use some stream-lining. Anything past three syllables reduces value in that ideal 24 to 38 market.”

“We were not inquiring as to the salability of the device’s nomenclature, but rather to your summation of it’s possible purpose!” Oswald half-shouted, tacking on a huffy, “If you _please_.”

“Ah. Yes, fair enough.” Lucius coughed, “Well, considering my data is limited to your observations and my basic preliminary notes from yesterday’s crime scene, I can only guess. I would tentatively hypothesize, however, that rather than a wholesale consciousness-switch—which is structurally impossible, as far as my knowledge of cognitive science is concerned—you’re experiencing some sort of consciousness-copy. One man’s engrammatic patterns overlaid atop the other, creating the effect of swapping minds as the new consciousness overrides the old one.”

The room was quiet as its occupants digested that theory.

Lee was the first to speak: “So, you’re saying…they just _think_ they’re each other?”

“Precisely.” Lucius steepled his fingers thoughtfully, “Though that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not a ‘real’ switch. After all, what are we but our thoughts, our memories?”

“Less philosophy, more logistics,” Oswald snapped, “If this is all in our heads—I mean, obviously it’s all in our heads—but I mean, if we just _think_ we’ve switched bodies, then what? We’re just insane now? Not the person that matches our bodies or the person we think we are?”

“That question’s definitely back in the philosophy court,” Lucius pointed out.

“Okay,” Jim had two fingers pressed hard against his temples, a vain attempt to suppress the headache there, “talking practicalities: if that machine basically faxed a copy of my consciousness into Oswald’s brain, or whatever, does that mean it’ll just wear off eventually?”

“I have no idea,” Lucius said carefully, “I really cannot emphasize enough how preposterous this situation is and how little my base of scientific knowledge applies to it.”

Jim was undeterred. “What if we electrocute ourselves again, would that wipe out the new patterns?”

“I’d be happy to test that theory out on Jimbo,” Ed announced.

“Hey, no one’s electrocuting anyone!” Harvey paused. “Except under expert supervision.”

“That’s…not how neuroscience works,” Lucius rebuffed the suggestion.

“How does neuroscience work?”

“I…” Lucius turned a desperate look on Lee and she reluctantly stepped in, standing in front of the agitated crowd. “Listen, you guys really need to understand something: this isn’t _Gilligan’s Island_. Neither of us are The Professor with a magic doctorate in Science writ large—we’re not experts in biomechanics or neuro-cognitive psychology or any of the scientific subfields relevant to this whole mess.”

“We’re dealing with mad science,” Ed pointed out, “so legitimate expertise isn’t really the question here. I doubt Doctor Double Dimwit had any reputable medical training—what we need to do is focus on the machine. If we can analyze its processes and function, we can reverse-engineer a solution.”

“I agree,” Lucius said, stunning Ed and the rest of the room and himself a little bit, “If we could find a blueprint for the machine, or even sufficient notes on its operation, it’s possible that we could utilize it in restoring your minds to the correct bodies. _But_ ,” he leaned heavily on that word, “without further guidance, I fear any attempt would most likely result in death or irreparable brain trauma.”

“I would be happy to risk irreparable brain trauma,” Oswald sneered, “it would go nicely with the insoluble emotional damage this little adventure has already gifted me with.”

“Well, I’m not ready to take that risk,” Ed interrupted with a frown. “I want you back in one piece, and preferably with all your mental faculties.” He turned back to Lucius, all business. “So, let’s gather intel. Arkham’s lovely this time of year.”

“Wait, back up,” Harvey waved a hand, “who said anything about Arkham?”

Ed turned a withering look on Harvey. “Obviously, Arkham is the most likely place to find the Doctor’s plans or notes on the machine. Unless you think he had time to purchase an evil lair in the last thirty or so hours?”

“Well, your type has a knack for throwing the damn things together quick-like.”

“Ed is right,” Lucius said, stepping forward before the bickering could escalate, and silently wondering what the world was coming to that he’d just agreed with Nygma two times in as many minutes. “Your investigation should begin at Arkham.”

“ _Our_ investigation,” Jim corrected, clapping Lucius on the shoulder and getting a startled jump in reply. “We’re gonna need you. None of us have the scientific know-how to make heads or tails of Ecks’ stuff, if we can find it.”

Ed coughed pointedly.

“Aside from Nygma,” Jim amended. “But I’d feel better having someone who’s never had a stay in Arkham working on the machine that’s going to play musical chairs with our brains.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Lee threw up her hands. “Never mind,” she fended off the belated apology on Jim’s lips, “I’ve no desire to go back to my old workplace, anyway. And besides, you need someone to go to the crime scene and make sure no over-achieving CSI starts tampering with the machine.”

“That is…such a good idea,” Jim agreed weakly.

“You have our gratitude, Doctor Thompkins,” Oswald nodded to her, verging on sincerity.

“Yeah, I’m thrilled to help,” Lee tossed a wave over her shoulder, “Try not to misplace any more of your brains before lunch, ‘kay?”

“Alright,” Jim drew himself up, “I’ll contact Arkham, alert them to lock down Ecks’ old cell, confiscate anything he had.”

“Uh, quick question?” Harvey held up a hand, “Are we planning on sneaking out the back, or do we have some other plan to deal with the captain?”

“Barnes,” Jim realized, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. “He’s already suspicious. He’ll definitely come looking for us if we don’t report in soon.”

“You could just explain the situation to him,” Lucius suggested.

Four incredulous stares turned on him.

“Right. Or you could lie.”

“Definitely lie,” Harvey and Oswald confirmed, sharing a brief, disgusted look with one another at the accidental harmony.

“We just need to convince Barnes to give us a little time.” Jim’s pointer finger tapped a nervous staccato against his elbow, “Maybe tell him we’re still wrapping up loose ends on Ecks’ case.”

“He’s dead,” Harvey pointed out, “what’s there to wrap up, if we don’t tell Barnes what he did?”

“Tell him you’re assisting City Hall in their investigation of the man who tried to kill Gotham’s highest ranking civil official!” Oswald directed haughtily. “Surely that’s worth a few measly hours of a policeman’s salary.”

Jim chewed the inside of his cheek. “Or, tell him the mayor’s a little too interested in the dead psycho’s project and we want to keep an eye on him. Make sure Penguin doesn’t get his hands on any dangerous technology.”

Harvey snapped his fingers and pointed at Jim, “Now that sounds like a winner.”

Ed, ever diligent to the warning signs of a homicidal temper tantrum in his partner, whispered calm sensibilities into Oswald’s fuming ear, “I know it’s unpleasant, but it’ll make for a sturdy deception. It plays into Barnes’ natural suspicions and explains our presence without drawing undue attention to the, er, specifics of our conundrum.”

Oswald’s anger subsided, but only just. A grin slipped onto Ed’s lips as he added, “And we can always deep-fry his intestines later, if he really gets on our nerves.”

Lucius was the only person in the room who overheard that little tidbit, and he decided to keep it to himself. And possibly caution the Captain to be extra cautious regarding the safety of his internal organs.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Oswald grumbled, straightening his collar grimly.

“Whoa, no way you’re going,” Harvey scoffed, “I’ll handle this.”

“Actually…” Jim stopped Harvey with a gentle hand.

“What? No, no ‘actually,’” Harvey protested.

“Yes, actually,” Jim continued. “Regrettably, I don’t think this will work without Penguin. Barnes is smart, and frankly, he doesn’t like you very much, Harv. If you go alone, he’ll smell bullshit a mile off.”

“Are you saying I’m a bad liar?”

“I’m not…not saying that.”

“Hey, I’m a great liar!” Harvey insisted.

“You’re a moderately talented liar,” Jim hedged, “but you get nervous in front of authority.”

“Gee, wanna spread any more of my insecurities around this little criminal cabal we’ve got here?”

“Sorry, buddy,” Jim gave Harvey’s shoulder a bracing pat, “But I—or rather, he—needs to go with you.”

“He really does,” Ed added with smirk, “the captain would surely sense something’s astray if Detective Gordon misses an opportunity to work through his latent daddy issues by pleasing his substitute father figure.”

Oswald laughed as Jim glowered. Lucius hoped fervently that his dinky little office wasn’t about to host the next skirmish in Penguin and Gordon’s never-ending catfight.

“Okay,” Harvey gave in before the tension could escalate further, “let’s go jumpstart this trainwreck.” He trudged towards the door and Oswald followed after a moment’s hesitation, casting a look back at Ed. Ed sent a supportive thumbs up after him, but it wilted as soon as Oswald rounded the corner.

“Oh, dear,” he worried his left cufflink, “somehow I don’t see this going well.”

Neither Harvey nor Oswald was particularly keen on having the other out of their sight, resulting in their walking at a very tense parallel through the crowded station floor.

Because they were both doing such a solid job monitoring each other, it should’ve come as no surprise when Oswald crashed hard into a passing officer.

“Watch where you’re going, you fumble-footed clod!” he nearly shouted the poor man’s head off.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harvey interceded, “Don’t mind him, he didn’t eat his Wheaties this morning.”

The rest of the bullpen gave them a wide berth after that. Just out of earshot, Anderson leaned over and remarked to the sergeant at the desk beside him, “What did I tell you? I think Gordon really has snapped this time.”

They filed up the stairs and Harvey pushed open the door to the captain’s office. “After you,” he bowed, mocking.

“So gracious,” Oswald sneered, strolling inside.

“I was wondering when you two would deign to check in,” Barnes drawled, tossing a folder down. “I’ve got something for you. There was a death under suspicious circumstances early this morning at—”

“Actually, sir,” Oswald cut in, hands clasped behind his back, doing rather a decent impression of an earnest Jim Gordon, “we’re here to ask if we can stay on the Ecks case.”

“What’s there to stay on?”

Harvey took that as his cue. “One of our guys spotted Nygma at the scene last night, said he claimed to be reviewing it for some report for City Hall. More likely looking to pick up some new toys for Penguin’s underground.”

“I’m sure Edward wasn’t doing anything untoward,” Oswald broke in. Harvey flashed a scowl at his going off-script, but Oswald didn’t pay it any mind. “You needn’t be so suspicious of an upstanding citizen and chief of the mayor’s staff.”

Harvey tried to stomp on Oswald’s foot but missed. “Yeah, considering how well he’s apparently been getting to know the _mayor’s staff,_ if you catch my drift—”

“How dare—!”

“—a little suspicion seems pretty fair.”

Oswald seethed, “I’ll cut out your tongue and pickle it in your own vile whiskey!”

“I’d like to see you tr—"

“Gordon, Bullock, knock it off!” Barnes roared, slamming both palms down on his desk. He glared at them in turn, daring them to continue, before heaving a sigh and leaning back in his chair. “For god’s sake, you’re supposed to be professionals. And I thought you two had ironed out your differences. Especially since you started, er, what do the kids call it nowadays, knocking boots?”

A devastating silence blanketed the room.

Harvey made a garbled noise, like a cartoon fish flung onto dry land.

Oswald gathered himself up enough to say, somewhat faintly, “I am genuinely shocked and appalled that you would even _imply_ such a thing.”

“Uh huh. Right. Listen, guys, three different uni’s have caught you violating section thirty-four of the code of conduct repeatedly and enthusiastically in the locker room. The jig is up.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Oswald whispered. Harvey felt the same, and it was only years of battling through vicious hangovers that assured him he wouldn’t lose his lunch on the captain’s desk at the thought of _him and Penguin_. 

“I don’t care what you do in your personal lives,” Barnes made something likely intended to be a magnanimous gesture, “I’m a twenty-first century kind of guy. But a little subtlety in the workplace? It wouldn’t kill you.”

“But this conversation might,” Oswald parried, looking more murderous by the second. His gaze caught on the umbrella hanging from Barnes’ coat rack, and Harvey had a sudden, horrible vision of Jim being jailed for beating his commanding officer to death with his own inclement-weather accessory.

“Alright!” Harvey chirped, “Thanks for the talking to, Cap, we’ll take it under advisement. And we’ll deal with Ecks and Penguin and all that crap, don’t you worry.”

“Uh-huh,” Barnes was staring at Oswald, “Gordon, you alright? You don’t look well.”

“He’s just tired. I’ll get some coffee in ‘im and he’ll be right as rain!” Harvey grabbed Oswald’s shoulders and tried to frogmarch him away.

Oswald shoved him aside with an offended gasp, “Unhand me, brute!”

Barnes looked with mounting alarm between the two of them.

“I mean…” Oswald dredged up an unenthusiastic: “Don’t damage the merchandise…partner.”

He grimaced at Harvey before reaching out and patting his forearm gingerly.

Barnes harrumphed, visibly torn between suspicion and concern. “Uh, Gordon?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe you should consider putting in for some vacation time,” Barnes suggested, “make sure your head’s on straight.”

“Not my head, not straight,” Oswald replied, scrunching his nose in a simpering smile.

“Uh…”

“Straight, head, you gotcha!” Harvey almost yelled as he ferried Oswald off, and this time Oswald didn’t fight it.

“Christ almighty, you’re unbearable,” Harvey grumbled as they veered off to the coffee machine under Barnes’ watchful gaze, “I don’t know how Nygma does it. If I’m not investigating him for your murder within the year, I’ll eat my badge.”

“I’d be happy to feed it to you now,” Oswald said sweetly, “if it’s better for your schedule.”

Harvey muttered something dark and indistinct as he raised a cup of the station’s borderline toxic sludge to his lips, and then began to speak to it. “I know I haven’t been as devoted to you these past years as I have to your fermented beverage brethren, but I’m asking you now, please forgive my neglectful sins and offer me salvation in this, my time of great need...”

“If this caffeination sermon doesn’t end soon, then its pastor is getting a ticket to heaven from me, _personally_ ,” Oswald snarled in Harvey’s ear.

“Why, hello there, Detective Gordon, Detective Bullock,” someone said, tone exceedingly cordial.

Oswald and Harvey spun around to find Jim, Ed, and Lucius standing behind them, an odd and miserable little caravan.

“Surely we should be on our way,” Jim continued, fake smile plastered across his face. It was horrible to look at.

“Please,” Lucius added in a whisper, leaning towards Harvey, “Nygma keeps _looking_ at me. It is extremely disquieting. I think he wants to recruit me.”

“Uh…” Harvey pulled at his beard and closed one eye thoughtfully, “Just say no?”

“This is ridiculous,” Ed rolled his eyes, “Can we please leave? The Bentley’s parked just around the block.”

“Or we could take the Jaguar,” Jim perked up.

“You’re never driving my car again,” Oswald warned, sticking a threatening finger in Jim’s face.

“Hey, calm down,” Harvey pulled his keys from his pocket, “We’re taking my car. Police business, police wheels. And I’m sure as hell not letting you two out of my sight, not while you’re dragging around Jim’s body.”

Oswald visibly swallowed a protest, counting to ten under his breath. Ed was very proud.

“We will acquiesce to traveling in your horrible vehicle because we are reasonable men who would like this situation to be resolved as quickly as possible,” Oswald said through gritted teeth, “And because I don’t want you two going anywhere with _my_ body, either.”

This decision resulted in the five men staring down seating arrangements in Harvey’s four-door sedan. Harvey took the driver’s seat, and Jim made to join him on the passenger’s side, jamming Oswald’s cane in next to the cup-holders.

“I am not sitting back there,” Oswald pointed imperiously to the pit of empty Chinese takeout boxes and powdered sugar donut remains that constituted the car’s backseat. “I can’t imagine what kind of illness I may contract. Worse, with prolonged contact, I might develop a taste for cheap beer and denim.”

Harvey raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? So, you really wanna sit up here with me?”

“Ugh,” Oswald shuddered and nearly dove into the back.

“Harvey, just when I thought my opinion of you couldn’t get any lower…” Ed grumbled, inspecting the vehicle’s interior, “good thing you’ve got a shovel back here.” There was, in fact, a shovel in the back seat, which Ed chucked unceremoniously onto the sidewalk.

“Pardon, but perhaps I should find alternate transportation,” Lucius broke in, edging away from the car.

“Nonsense,” Ed scooted into the cramped middle seat and patted the now-vacant spot to his right. He just managed not to openly grin at Lucius’ horrified expression.

“Time is of the essence,” Oswald sighed, from where he was comfortably pressed against Ed’s side, “if you please, Mr. Fox.”

Lucius’ mutinous expression turned resigned at the pleading look on Jim’s face. “I should never have left the private sector,” he muttered, before climbing cautiously into the backseat, watchful eye on Ed’s overly cheerful expression.

Ed sniffed thoughtfully as Lucius settled next to him, “Lovely cologne. French?”

Lucius winced and announced, “I regret waking up this morning.”

“Hear, hear,” Jim agreed, “Just try not to get killed back there, ok?”

Lucius caught sight of Ed’s grin again and shuddered. “I will do my best.”

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Harvey noted, adjusting his rearview mirror, “two mobsters and a geek climb into the back of a cop car.”

“Yes, undoubtably the beginning to a bad joke,” Oswald huffed, “but if you don’t get a move on, it’ll be the start of something much less funny, I assure you.”

“Alright, alright, keep your panties on,” Harvey cranked the parking brake off then squealed onto the road in reverse. He grinned back at the jostled passengers, “Might wanna buckle up.”

They attempted to do so, which resulted in rather more fumbling near each other’s behinds for belt latches than that car’s occupants would’ve preferred. Lucius, in particular, didn’t enjoy being shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh with someone who’d held him captive and threatened his life, though he did his best not to show it. 

The car trundled onto the main drag, engine roaring less with power, more with age. Jim waited for a snide remark about the dilapidated vehicle’s admittedly numerous awful qualities, but found the backseat was otherwise occupied.

“So, this is—” Ed started at the same time as Oswald said, “I wanted to—”

Ed shook his head. “Please, you first.”

“Ah. Yes,” Oswald cleared his throat. “It’s just, we haven’t had a moment to talk since, you know, and I wanted to say…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes to glare at Lucius, who’d taken an interest in what appeared to be genuine emotion on the part of Gotham’s most ruthless crimelord.

“Do you mind?” Oswald snarled at him.

Lucius held up a placating hand, “I have no desire to intrude on your intimate moment.”

“Then you will pretend you’re not here, and we will do the same,” Oswald declared.

Lucius’ mouth turned down in a thoughtful ‘why not?’ expression, and he nodded, before turning to stare pointedly out the window.

“Ahem,” Ed angled himself towards Oswald, the better to pretend they didn’t have an audience for their little chat.

“Yes. Well,” Oswald futzed with his shirt cuffs—plain, buttoned, boring. Hateful. “I wanted to know if you’re alright. I mean, maybe not _alright_ , but…coping.”

Ed ducked his head, examining his hands, clasped tight in his lap. “Unclear. I’ve never had this precise nightmare, but I have had some of alarming similarity. You know about my past, er, difficulties with multiple consciousnesses and bodily hijacking.”

“Yes, of course, I remember.” Oswald wanted to reach out and touch Ed, but the moment seemed too delicate. “With all the horrible things that you’ve endured, I was worried this might trigger some memories, or feelings or…well. I just didn’t want you to have to go through this. But I’m sorry, I should have been honest with you, no matter what.”

“I wish you had been, but I understand why you hesitated.” Ed looked up, meeting Oswald’s gaze, and Oswald found forgiveness there. “I understand that you wanted to protect me. And that this would’ve been hard to explain.” He laughed, a touch bitter, “after all, I didn’t exactly react well when you did try and convince me.”

“I don’t blame you,” Oswald rushed to assure him, “I’m sure I would’ve been in a ‘stab first, ask questions never’ mood myself, if I’d been in your shoes.”

Ed broke into a smile, and Oswald felt something loosen in his chest. “So, are you ok?” he asked, needing to know how much damage he’d inadvertently inflicted, “Really?”

“Surprisingly, yes. I have a goal, a purpose. I have to take care of you. So, nothing else matters.” Ed nodded, and his eyes were clear. “Really, I’m ok.”

“My dear Ed—” Oswald reached out to caress his cheek, and Ed winced.

“Sorry,” he apologized, brow wrinkling at Oswald’s crestfallen expression, “It’s just…you know. It’ll take a little while to get over the instinctive, uh, disgust reflex.”

“Fair enough,” Oswald tried to smile, but it was a weak thing.

The car went over a pothole, wheel bouncing in the rut and sending the occupants of its backseat tumbling against one another.

Oswald stuck his head out to glare at Lucius, as if Gotham’s shoddy road repair was somehow his fault, “You’re not doing a very good job of not being here.”

“Oh, but I’m doing an excellent job of _wishing_ I weren’t here,” Lucius insisted, “In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m on the verge of inventing a site-to-site teleportation device, purely out of the intensity of my desire to not be here.”

Ed chuckled, pleased by the diversion Lucius offered, “You are a clever one, Mr. Fox, I wouldn’t put it past you. When this is over, do remind me to run a business proposal by you.”

Lucius squared his shoulders, meeting Ed’s eye. “I look forward to hearing it. And I must say…” he tilted his head, looking at Ed through his eyelashes, “it’s been bold of you to flirt with me right in front of your partner.”

“What? I—that’s not—”

“Though, you should be aware, I typically place persons who’ve attempted to kill me with poison gas pretty firmly at the top of my ‘people not to date’ list.”

“Okay, first of all, it was a sleeping agent, you were never in any real danger—” Ed caught sight of Oswald’s expression and moved quickly on, “and second, this is not flirting. This is tormenting. I am attempting to torment you.”

“Eh…” Lucius shrugged as well as he could when he was squashed against the doorframe, “Trying to seduce me into working for your criminal organization, insisting I climb in the back of this car with you, the cologne comment…sounded pretty flirty to me.”

“Why, you—” Oswald burst into motion, hands flying at Lucius and his seat belt the only thing that kept the rest of him from going that way too.

“Whoa!” Ed tried to intercede while Lucius flatted himself against the door, thinking that probably, attempting to needle Ed in this particular fashion while stuck in a tiny space with him and his homicidal lover wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had. But it had been incredibly satisfying to watch the color drain from Ed’s face when he realized his snide attentions had backfired so spectacularly, ergo—maybe worth it.

“I swear to god,” Harvey shouted over his shoulder, “if anyone gets murdered in the backseat of my car…”

“If I get murdered in the backseat of your car, Harvey, I _will_ haunt you,” Lucius promised.

“No one’s getting murdered,” Ed said loudly, and a touch hysterically.

“Definitely, no murder,” Jim agreed, wishing for one of those little plastic spritz bottles you sprayed naughty pets with. He imagined it might work wonders on misbehaving Penguins.

There were only two more attempts on the lives of the vehicle’s occupants (once, when Ed discovered a slice of pizza that was developing new forms of life beneath his shoes and went immediately to Defcon Four, and the second time when Harvey got distracted by Oswald-who-looked-like-Jim tending a little too closely to Ed and almost veered into oncoming traffic), and all passengers made it to the Asylum in one piece.

They stumbled gratefully out of the car and into the building, Jim immediately marching up to the caged entrance. He tapped the metal grille when its occupant didn’t look up from his _Tropical Fish Hobbyist_ magazine.

“Excuse me? We’re here to inspect the personal belongings of a recently deceased inmate, you should’ve received our clearance from the GCPD.”

The guard’s heavy blue eyes finally rolled into motion, settling into a squint on Jim’s features. “The only thing you’ve got clearance for is to kiss my ass.”

Jim’s mouth fell open.

Oswald shoved him out of the way with victorious smirk.

“Apologies,” he simpered at the guard, “although my friend here is the mayor, he forgets sometimes that he still has no right to stick his nose in police business.”

Oswald puffed out his chest and the effect was, well, it was _unusual_ given the chest he was so proudly puffing out wasn’t his. “ _I_ am Detective James Gordon and I demand entry to the late lunatic’s quarters immediately.”

“Uh. Badge?” The guard squinted suspiciously at the uneasy quintet.

Oswald produced Jim’s badge and held it out for inspection. Jim, meanwhile, had turned a nuclear shade of red. Ed took a moment to enjoy the sight before sighing and shaking out a handkerchief to fan him.

Jim sputtered and swatted him away. “What the fu—”

“That’s Oswald’s blood pressure you’re endangering,” Ed hissed. “As soon as you’re back in your own body, feel free to drop dead of a stroke.”

“Alright. Go ahead.” The guard buzzed them through the initial gate, still wary. “Jake will take you where you wanna go.”

Jake—a man of uninspired thought and great cruelty, both qualities of which Ed had endured in his recent stay—lumbered out of the guard box.

Ed was too busy tending menacingly to Jim to notice the name, or he might’ve been more cautious when following the crew into the narrow hall.

“Ooh, back so soon, sweet cheeks?” Jake drawled, as soon as he laid eyes on Ed, “Did you miss me that much?”

Ed froze, shooting a panicked look back the way they came, but it was too late. They were already two turns deep into Arkham’s maze.

Oswald was, naturally, apoplectic in seconds. “How _dare_ you speak to him like that!”

“Uh…”

“Hey!” Jim barreled forward before Oswald could move, “If I don’t get to raise your damn blood pressure, you don’t get to strangle any guards.”

“It’s quite alright,” Ed assured Oswald, raising his chin and fixing Jake with a stony look, “I hardly mind the chattering of the local rodent population.” He stood behind Oswald, slipping a hand onto his waist.

“You got yourself a cop boyfriend, huh?” Jake jeered, “Always knew you were a devious little bastard, didn’t know you were a devious little slut, too.”

“Oh, Christ,” Harvey braced himself, “now we’re in for it.”

Jim threw his arms around Oswald’s middle as he roared forward, trying to hold him back. He probably wouldn’t have been very successful, except that Oswald was still a bit green at piloting his new meatsuit and had overshot his target. By all rights they should’ve hit the ground, but the force of Oswald’s rage kept him buoyant.

“A little help!” Jim croaked, an elbow landing in his gut.

“Uh…” Harvey tried to wade in, but Ed tripped him with one well-placed Brogue.

“Oops!” Ed laughed, delighted. This quickly turned into an alarmed cry when Oswald sank the nails of his hand into Jim’s cheek with a squawk.

“ _Jim!_ ” Ed said hastily, shoving his way between the two men, “you don’t want to hurt _Oswald’s_ face.”

“Oh…right.” Oswald let up his assault and Jim fell aside, panting. Harvey gathered himself up off the ground, huffing and puffing like a steam engine.

“You’re all fucking nuts,” Jake realized, in the post-brawl commotion.

“Crude, but not entirely inaccurate,” Lucius agreed from where he’d been maintaining a safe distance from the violence. “As such, wouldn’t it be wise to simply direct us where we wish to go, so we can be on our way and out of your hair?”

“Way I see it, I’ve got no good reason to do anything but throw you out on your asses,” Jake countered, crossing his arms.

“How’s this for a reason?” Oswald said mildly, producing a police-issue handgun and pointing it squarely at Jake’s chest.

“Where’d you get that?” Jim shouted.

“At the precinct! It’s a cop shop, they’re just lying around!”

Harvey felt in his holster. “Hey! That’s mine!”

“Like I said,” Oswald repeated loudly, “Just lying around.”

“Fuck, calm down!” Jake put his hands up, “Just go! The cell’s down the hall, first right, then second on the left.”

“Thank you. Was that so hard?” Oswald lowered the gun and took a step forward, Jake flinching as he did so. “Don’t worry,” Oswald smiled widely, “surely we can put this ugliness behind us and part as friends.”

“Yeah, right…” Jake relaxed and Oswald pistol-whipped him across the face, sending him sprawling backwards. He hit his head against the steel doorframe and slid to the ground, out cold or worse.

“Hmm,” Oswald kicked his shoe, “well, that was unpleasant. Shall we be off, then?”

“You just—” Harvey gestured hopelessly at the guard.

“With my body!” Jim half-finished the thought, finally managing to disarm Oswald and hand Harvey’s gun back to him, “You just assaulted a state official in a police officer’s body!”

“Don’t be an infant,” Oswald sighed, “It’s hardly the first time these fists of yours have seen civil blood. And with the level of corruption the GCPD operates at, this will probably get you a commendation.”

“What about the security cameras?” Lucius reminded them, “Surely, we’re about to be tackled by half a dozen angry guards? Who will no doubt pay no mind to the fact that I _just_ had this suit dry cleaned,” he added as a wistful afterthought.

“And yet, no one’s come running,” Ed drawled, “If you haven’t noticed, gentlemen, Arkham’s far more prone to inspiring violence than reducing it. Not to mention they’re desperately understaffed.”

“A civil injustice I’ll surely address during my time as mayor,” Oswald proclaimed.

“Yes, dear,” Ed agreed.

“Hello?” A frail voice filtered down the hall. “I heard a kerfuffle!”

“Is that—” Ed and Oswald turned to each other. “That sounds like—”

An extremely wizened man with a crown of soft white hair peered around the corner.

“My god, Roger’s still here?” Oswald gaped at the newcomer, “I thought he’d certainly have keeled over by now.”

“Oh, yes, he was still on lunch duty during my tenure,” Ed watched the elderly guard with the sort of fondness one might have for a puppy that keeps head-butting a mirror because it hasn’t worked out reflections yet.

“What’s going on here…” Roger blinked owlishly at Jake’s immobile form.

“Hey, Rog,” Ed stepped over the potentially deceased man, throwing a companionable arm around the guard’s shoulders, “remember me? Sure, you don’t. You probably don’t remember what you had for breakfast. But that’s alright, your senility is one of your most pleasant characteristics.”

“What’s that, son?” Rog put a hand to his ear, “You want some carrot sticks?”

“Nope,” Ed slowly turned Roger around, guiding him down the hall, “Just think that a walk would be nice. No need to concern ourselves with this little incident.”

“Mincemeat, you say?” Rog shook his head, “Fine time to be talking about food. Is that what you’re here for?”

“No, we’re here to see the belongings of one Mister Simon Ecks.”

“Simon!” Roger echoed dimly, “Now you’re starting to make sense. You’re looking to talk to Simon?”

“Yep,” Ed nodded encouragingly, “that is accurate enough.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s shake some tail,” Rog headed off at snail’s pace down the hall. Ed shot a thumbs up to the group, who followed warily. Lucius stayed behind long enough to check Jake’s pulse—sluggish, but there. He’d keep, Lucius decided, and rushed off after the others.

“Here we are!” Roger announced, knocking on the cracked drywall like it was a front door.

“Wait,” Harvey peered through the bars of the cell, “there’s someone in there!”

“You told me you wanted to see Simon Ecks,” Roger replied, confused.

“We wanted to see his cell,” Jim clarified, “Simon Ecks is dead.”

“He’s not dead, he’s right there.” The guard pointed into the cell, and they all looked in.

The man inside matched the late mad scientist in every detail, right down to the singed gold curls and wild eyes.

“He’s got a double?” Harvey asked, pained.

“Oh, wonderful, there’s two of them,” Oswald closed his eyes, “Naturally.”

“Admittedly, on-brand,” Ed tapped his chin, “I admire the commitment to the theme.”

“Are you looking for Simon?” the cell’s occupant asked, sounding thoroughly bored, “What could you possibly want with my brainless brother, considering his timely demise has rendered him even less useful than when he was living?”

“Oh, identical twin. Alright,” Harvey nodded encouragingly, “That’s not so weird.”

“This is Simon’s twin, Simon,” Roger said helpfully.

“It’s Symon with a ‘y’,” the prisoner grumbled, wrapping his hands around the bars and smushing his face up against them.

Jim frowned. “Your mother named you both Simon?”

“ _Symon_!” he shrieked, rattling the steel, “I can hear that you’re using an ‘i’!”

“Oh, good, he seems very stable,” Lucius muttered. “I can’t wait to acquire sensitive scientific information from this man.”

“Okay, Mr. Ecks—” Jim began.

“ _Professor_ Ecks,” Symon corrected.

“Isn’t that a comic book character?” Harvey asked, earning an elbow to the ribs from Jim.

“I’ll only be addressed by my proper title,” Symon (Jim mentally emphasized the ‘y’) sniffed, “After all, I have a doctorate and was employed at Gotham University.”

“Yeah, for three weeks!” the man in the cell next door shouted with glee, apparently deciding to get in on the excitement.

“Shut up, Louie!” Ecks jammed a hand through the bars to claw fruitlessly in the speaker’s direction.

“As a guest lecturer!”

“ _Shut up, Louie_!”

“Professor Ecks,” Oswald turned up the wattage of his smile and moved to stand in Symon’s field of vision, “It’s an honor.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose it is.” Symon brushed down the front of his filthy jumpsuit.

“We were hoping to consult your considerable intellect in regard to a project your clearly much less talented brother made rather a mess of before he died.”

“Ha!” Symon reeled back for a moment with giggles, “Ah, yes, of course. I’d be happy to help clean up his mess, as I always do.”

“Wonderful,” Lucius stepped forward, notebook in hand. “Do you recall his attempt at some sort of engrammatic replication device?”

“The engrammatic facsimilator? How could I forget, he’s been obsessed with the damn thing for years, ever since I set the project aside. Always crying to me for help, and did he need it! His coefficients were always off by at least a factor of two. And the zeta fields!” Symon scoffed, “Last I heard, the thing could hardly even turn on. My model had much more _stamina_.”

“Ew,” Harvey and Oswald said in unison. 

“Ahem. Yes, I’m sure,” Lucius soldiered on, “Now, as I understand it, this machine has the effect of—to use popular parlance—swapping its victims’ bodies?”

“Victims?” Symon repeated, incredulous. “You mean the fortunate chosen ones! My brother wanted this to be his great gift to humanity. True understanding! Imagine, another man’s thoughts and dreams—his very soul—laid over yours. Enemies, war—they would be a thing of the past! Idealistic, yes,” Symon admitted, “but that was one of my brother’s many flaws.”

“So, the machine was meant to transfer a copy of one person’s mind into another mind?” Lucius confirmed.

“Yes, in layman’s terms.”

“If the machine simply generates a copy, are the effects then temporary?”

“Hardly,” Symon grinned, “The new machine-made engrams completely override the old ones. It was one of the problems Simon could never solve! Once the REM cycle solidified the new memories, it would only be a matter of hours before they were completely calcified and the old patterns were irretrievable. Assuming the subject even survived that long—I doubt my cretinous brother was able to overcome the engrammatic toxicity.”

“The what?” Lucius and Ed were the ones in harmony this time, dread mirrored in their tones.

Symon shook his head and began to pace, every bit the long-suffering teacher, “You can’t just slap a bunch of foreign memory patterns into a person’s brain and expect it all to be hunky-dory. The brain interprets the procedure as an attack, launches a full immune response to fight off what it thinks is an infection or virus. Except it can’t tell the new memories from the old, so it ends up eating away at both. Turns the poor schmuck’s personality into oatmeal. Also,” Symon drew a finger across his neck sharply, “kills them sometimes. And fast, too.”

“How do you know that?” Lucius asked.

“Empirically, of course!” Symon sniffed. “Like I said, the idea was mine first. I was able to replicate _three_ different subject’s patterns, and one of them even survived the removal process! The others couldn’t handle a second trip through the facsimilator, but eh—that’s on them, really. Of course, you and yours confiscated and destroyed my own machine years ago. Called me mad. A fool’s term for ‘genius.’”

“Yes, yes,” Oswald shoved his rant aside, “But how long do we have? Before the brain-oatmeal-death, or before the switch is permanent?”

Symon picked at one of his molars thoughtfully. “Eh. When they died, it was pretty quick—matter of hours after the sleep-implantation. And the calcified memories, well. Neural plasticity becomes extremely limited with this kind of electrical trauma. If they survived, the switch would probably become permanent within thirty or forty hours. I—wait…” Symon’s eyes bugged out, “You said ‘ _we,’_ as in, how long do WE have…did you _do_ it? Did my stupid brother’s stupid machine actually work?” His head started pinballing back and forth as he tried to inspect all his visitors at once for signs of bodily swappage. “Which of you underwent the engrammatic replication process?” he nearly shrieked with excitement, “Have you experienced any side effects?”

“Side effects?” Oswald dove forward, grabbing a fistful of Symon’s jumpsuit through the bars and shaking him, “You mean like _waking up in the wrong body_!”

“ _You_ ,” Symon grinned and grabbed Oswald’s hand in both his own, running fingers along his skin as if he could find signs of the procedure, “You’re not really a detective, are you?”

“He’s not, I am,” Jim admitted. “And Oswald, could you please stop giving this man an excuse for a police brutality lawsuit?”

“Incredible,” Symon muttered as Oswald reluctantly released him, “of course, my brother stole all of my work, that’s why the procedure was actually successful. This is all mine. My success!”

“Yes,” Ed agreed suddenly, sliding up to Oswald’s shoulder to cast a patently fraudulent expression of generosity and understanding at Symon, “it absolutely will be. Once you’ve recalibrated your brother’s machine to set right what he got so terribly wrong.”

Ecks traced a considering look over Ed. “You’d let me go? If I repair my brother’s faulty machine?”

Jim had to stand on his toes to spot Ecks over Ed’s shoulder, “If you agree to assist the GCPD in this matter, I can promise a temporary work release and a review of your case.”

Ecks’ face split into a wide grin. “Deal!”

“Was that too easy?” Harvey asked Jim in an undertone.

“You call that easy?” Lucius wondered, appearing between them.

Jim looked from Harvey to Lucius. “I don’t like it either, but I don’t see we have much choice, not with that ticking time bomb hanging over our heads. Or, in our heads, actually. Lucius, can you arrange for Ecks 2.0 here to be transported to the crime scene?” He glanced at the aged guard still standing dutifully nearby. He was either asleep or comatose, from the looks of it. “I think Rog, here, might take some firm handling.”

Lucius nodded, “Fortunately, I have a history of good rapport with the city’s senior citizens.”

“Sounds about right, Doctor Boy Scout,” Harvey said.

“Hey,” Jim was vaguely offended, “I thought I was the boy scout.”

“You are! You’re Detective Boy Scout, he’s Doctor Boy Scout.”

“Doctor kinda sounds better.”

“Well, sorry, do you have a degree I’m not aware of?”

“For God’s sake,” Oswald broke in, “cease this petty bickering or Jim, I _will_ shave your entire body.”

“Honestly, I think you’d have a worse time doing that than Jim would have dealing with it later,” Harvey argued, “But I also think all this misplaced annoyance goes to prove a point. I’m calling it. Code 10-63.”

“What? What does that mean?” Oswald demanded to know, grasping at the air where his cane would usually be.

“It’s just cop talk,” Ed waved a dismissive hand, “it means temporarily out of service for a meal.”

Oswald reared back as Harvey bellowed, “Lunch break!” and then stormed off down the hall with tacos in his eyes.

Because Harvey possessed extensive and arcane knowledge of every possible location at which one may purchase, procure, purloin, or otherwise commandeer edible foodstuffs within Gotham’s borders, tacos were located in under ten minutes.

Jim had been fighting the lunch battle with Harvey for years. Normally, by this point, he would’ve put forward a token complaint to the tune of “a vegetable? Maybe? Half a vegetable, even?” And Harvey would’ve replied with the obvious comeback that these tacos contained both corn and lettuce, which basically made them a salad, and so on.

However, under the circumstances, Jim was far too preoccupied with the sudden fact that he was about to have to eat food with someone else’s mouth. He was going to eat food with Oswald’s mouth, and Oswald was going to be eating food with his mouth, and this for some reason seemed far more intimate than any of the other exceedingly intimate bodily inconveniences that had already occurred.

The existential crisis of “does cheese still taste like cheese with someone else’s taste buds?” and other culinary mysteries probably would have overwhelmed him entirely if he was not rescued by the appearance of his favorite pastime: disagreeing with Oswald.

“You _cannot_ eat that.” Oswald’s indignance towered over Jim as he automatically accepted one of Harvey’s tacos.

“Excuse me?”

“You cannot put that in _my_ body. Just because you’re in the driver’s seat, doesn’t mean _I’m_ not going to have to deal with the extra luggage when I get back!”

Jim considered proffering Harvey’s “tacos=salad” counterargument but figured it wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny.

Harvey, with his usual political deftness, stepped in. “I don’t think one taco will affect your suit measurements, princess.”

“It’s about the principle,” Oswald insisted, arctic daggers tossed in Harvey’s direction. “After all, I’m—I’m watching my weight,” he announced, imperious tone imperiled by a distinct tinge of embarrassment.

“Why would you do that?” Ed interrupted, “seems a silly thing to watch in the whole world of watchable things.”

“Oh.” Oswald fumbled with the hem of his jacket and became suddenly invested in inspecting the pavement. “That’s—ah. I thought you might…never mind.”

“Certainly, never mind,” Ed’s eyes flashed as he snapped up the inference Oswald was clumsily trying to derail, “that I would care…? Preposterous.”

“Perfectly,” Oswald agreed, cheeks pink and smile soft.

“Ugh, you guys are seriously putting me off my lunch,” Harvey declared, casting a wistful glance down at his half-consumed pile of salsa and shredded chicken.

“Finally,” Ed grinned, “something good has come of this day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And tomorrow, the conclusion!


	3. move along home

“So, this is where the first Ecks kicked off this whole fiasco,” Harvey narrated their arrival at the most decrepit warehouse among a storied collection of decrepit warehouses, “With just a few bolts of electricity and a wacked-out dream. Inspiring.”

Lucius pulled up a minute later, riding shotgun in an armored Arkham vehicle containing the living Ecks. Jim made to go sign off on his release, but Harvey coughed loudly, and he stopped, biting his lip with irritation. Oswald sashayed past him, making a production of signing one guard’s clipboard as the other tossed Ecks unceremoniously out of the back of the van.

Harvey took Ecks by the elbow and led him none-too-gently forward. They passed a couple of uniformed officers stationed at the entrance, who gave their motley party a strange look but let them pass.

In the echoing main compartment of the warehouse they found Lee examining the machine, poking cautiously at the portion of it that resembled a large, salon-style beehive hair dryer. In fact, given the haphazard quality of the machine’s components, that may well be what it was.

“Thank god you’re here!” Lee rushed forward as soon as she spotted them, “I was beginning to think I’d be stuck here with _him_ all day.”

“Him who?” Jim asked warily.

“Hey bossaroo! And boss’s boo,” Zsasz trilled, popping up from behind the machine’s control panel and blowing a kiss in their general direction. “Oh!” He pulled up short when he spotted Symon. “Wait…” he rolled his sleeve up and poked at a fresh red line on his forearm, “Yeah! Dude, I totally already killed you!” He pulled one of his guns from its holster and pointed it at the scar, and then at Symon, who was utterly unfazed.

“I believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Symon sniffed, “Most likely my twin brother, though that would be odd, considering I’m significantly better looking.”

“Ohh…” Zsasz nodded, the nose of his gun dipping for a moment as he turned to Oswald. “Hey, you want me to kill this one too?”

“No!” Oswald, Ed, Jim, and Lucius all shouted at once.

“Jeez,” Zsasz holstered his weapon with a huff, “touchy, touchy.”

“So, you put my brother out of his misery,” Symon realized. “How delightful! Do let me shake your hand, good sir.” He held out his hand, and after a beat of confused silence, Zsasz took it and shook it happily.

“Always great to meet a fan!” Zsasz enthused.

“Victor!” Oswald wished he had something to throw at Zsasz, settling for thwacking his shoulder sharply and hissing, “What are you doing here? I shared the sensitive information of our circumstances with you so that you would maintain our private affairs while we were indisposed, _not_ so that you could burst onto the scene and disrupt a very delicate procedure with your typical theatrics.”

“Oh please, criminal underworlds run themselves. And they kicked me out of City Hall in like five minutes for making ‘inappropriate advances’ to the council vice-president,” Zsasz rolled his eyes as he lifted two pairs of fingers in air quotes.

Ed balked. “That man has to be nearing seventy.”

Zsasz leered, “A very well-preserved seventy. And I did get his number, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Ed promised.

“Anyway, as soon as I heard the words ‘body swap’ I knew I couldn’t miss this,” Zsasz reached out to pinch Oswald’s cheek and was batted away, “I mean, it’s so…”

“Horrifying?” Oswald suggested.

“Fucked up?” Harvey offered.

“Inconvenient?” Ed sniffed.

Zsasz grinned, “...hot.”

Everyone who wasn’t Zsasz groaned in unison.

Unable to, or more accurately, not bothering to read the room, Zsasz sidled up between Jim and Oswald, shooting them significant looks from under his non-existent eyebrows. “So, you two gonna do it?”

“Do what?” Jim said, nonplussed, while Oswald sputtered indignantly.

“Each other,” Zsasz said patiently, rather in the tone of a kindergarten teacher explaining the ABCs to a particularly distracted child, “Or yourselves, depending how you think about.”

Jim joined Oswald in his indignation.

“Victor.” Ed stepped forward, frighteningly calm. “We don’t know each other terribly well. But I think you know me well enough that when I say that if you ever insinuate anything about potential sexual or romantic exploits between Jim Gordon,” Ed packed the words with enough venom to burst through the vowels, “and my Oswald, then I will take peel your skin off with a butter knife and hang your disgusting, scarred pelt over the manor’s mantle.”

Zsasz paused, then took a respectful step back. “Hmm. A little blasé, as threats go, but the butter knife was a nice touch. Overall, I give you…seven and a half out of ten. Full points for delivery though,” he shot double finger guns at Ed, “Very zesty. I like it. I like him,” Zsasz said to Oswald, giving him an okay- sign with thumb and forefinger over Ed’s shoulder, “I get why you’re keepin’ it pure for him.”

“Please God, why don’t you end this now,” Harvey whispered to the heavens, “One quick lightning strike, that’s all it’d take.”

Victor shrugged dramatically, “But if you’re really sure you wanna miss out on the epic opportunity to bang yourself—”

“Victor,” Oswald swept his suit jacket back to reveal a gun in his holster, “I’m currently in possession of the body, badge, and firearm of a police officer. This means I could shoot you, a highly wanted criminal, on sight. Do not. Tempt. Me.”

“He has a gun—he has a gun, again!” Harvey grabbed his hat with both hands.

“At this point I’ve just accepted it,” Jim sighed.

“So, lemme get this straight: there’s no clone fucking, _and_ I don’t get to kill anyone? Ugh,” Zsasz let his head droop back, “Worst body swap _ever_.”

“Seriously?” Lee gestured to Zsasz as if his very existence spoke for itself—and really, it did. “Aren’t you going to arrest him or something?”

“Bigger fish,” Harvey pointed out, “we don’t need a firefight right now.”

“Smart man,” Zsasz tapped his temple, “I always knew I liked you, Harvey. And not just for that rich, manly musk.”

“Someday, Zsasz, I must know precisely what your damage is,” Ed said, wonderingly. “But until that day, could you please take a seat and let those of us whose skills are in scientific rather than sadistic territory take charge?”

“Hey, don’t mind me,” Zsasz tossed himself down into a discarded hunk of orange lawn furniture that looked like it might’ve survived a small nuclear event. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

“Hey,” Oswald was the first to notice that Symon had slithered away during Zsasz’s performance and was pressing buttons on the machine’s control panel, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Symon’s shrill reply sent up alarm bells for everyone, but Oswald was the only one close enough to do anything. He was hot on Symon’s heels in a second, trying to shove the man away from the controls. But Symon was ready—with a burst of motion, he had a hand clawed into Oswald’s chest, hiding behind his back as he held something that glinted dull and grey to his neck. Oswald froze, hardly daring to breathe.

“Nobody move!” Symon shouted, eyelid twitching and sweaty hand tight on Oswald’s shirtfront.

“Whoa! Take it easy, Professor,” Jim held his hands up, appeasing, “Where’d you get the knife?”

“Where do you think? Made it out of my bedframe. What kind of self-respecting Arkhamite doesn’t have a shiv?” Symon asked seriously.

Ecks pressed the metal shard tight against Oswald’s throat, drawing a ruby drop of blood, “And what kind of genius would I be if I let my halfwit brother outshine me in my own field? Succeed where I failed? I’d sooner die. But that’s not necessary, not when all the proof of his achievement is about to go up in smoke.” He reached behind his back to press a large red button—and really, when did a big red button ever bode well? “Once this machine overloads, there’ll be nothing left in the world to show that the lesser Ecks did anything worth remembering! Well,” Ecks dipped his head to the side, accommodating, “that is, there’ll be nothing left after the machine goes boom and I slit your throat. Oh, also yours,” he gestured with the blade towards Jim, and there was a creak of plastic from somewhere off to the left—

“No, don’t!” Jim shouted, but not at Symon.

A bullet zinged neatly through the side of Symon’s head, splattering brain and bone across the console.

“Two for two!” Zsasz threw both hands in the air, waving his guns in a victory dance. “Aw, hell yeah.”

“Zsasz, you idiot!” Oswald shrieked, as Symon’s lifeless body dropped to the floor behind him like a damp sack of potatoes, “He was the only one who knew how to work the machine!”

“Gee, boss,” Zsasz adopted a high, sing-song tone, “that’s a funny way of saying, ‘thank you so much for saving my life, since that man with the weapons-grade bad hair day was about to slice my head off my shoulders, let me triple your salary and also send you flowers, but not roses because you have a mild allergy.’”

“I don’t sound like that,” Oswald huffed, “And I would never say that. And you’re overpaid already.” He paused. “Since you did technically save my life, however, I suppose I’ll let this pass.”

Zsasz gave a proud little nod, then flopped back into his half-melted lawn chair, apparently satisfied with a job badly done.

Lucius stepped gingerly over Symon’s corpse, hands flying over the machine’s nonsensical controls. The menacing whir that had started up a minute ago wound down with a relieved sigh.

“Is the brain-swapper busted?” Harvey asked, taking his hat off like he was ready to pay his respects.

“I don’t think so,” Lucius answered, brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the tiny LED display, “I think he tried to start a chain reaction, overload the system’s electronics…. But he didn’t account for the surge protection his brother built into the input mechanism.”

“Can you run it?” Jim followed up, face grim and set.

Lucius turned on him, incredulous. “Is that a joke?”

“Let me see,” Ed elbowed Lucius out of the way, squinting down at the controls.

“Can _you_ run it?” Harvey asked hopefully, “You know, crazy minds think alike?”

“Nygma has even fewer relevant credentials to this operation than I do,” Lucius declared, clasping his hands in front of him, “but by all means, Edward, do continue pressing buttons until you completely destabilize the only thing that could return Penguin and Detective Gordon’s minds.”

Ed froze, fingers poised above what appeared to be a vintage keyboard hot-glued onto a microwave. “Fair,” he finally agreed, “feel free to take it from here, Foxy.”

“Don’t call me Foxy,” Lucius ordered, sweeping Ed back out of the way. “Doctor Thompkins, could you assist?”

Lee joined Lucius at the controls, already shaking her head. “I tried to see if I could make heads or tails of this thing, but it doesn’t correspond to any form of neurological technology I’ve ever encountered. Best I can offer is to try and provide emergency medical care after they go in. If they go in.” She corrected, casting a regretful look back at Jim.

“Well, maybe we don’t need an expert, maybe we can just turn it on, and zap-bang-pow,” Harvey wiggled his hands next to his forehead, apparently miming a consciousness-transference. “Do you think the thing’s ready to go?”

“I have no idea,” declared Lucius. “It appears to be receiving power, and all of these indicator lights are blinking. It hasn’t exploded yet, and I’m fairly certain it won’t explode in the near future. That is about all I can tell you with certainty.”

“Really, Lucius, I thought you were some kind of genius,” Harvey needled, “you just gave that whole speech!”

“I’m a scientist, not a miracle worker,” Lucius said primly, keeping remarkably calm considering they could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. “This whole misadventure is so far outside my field of expertise, I’d need an additional doctorate just to tell you what I don’t know about it. The only thing I am positive about is that the more we adjust any of these settings, the higher the likelihood that this ramshackle contraption melts down.”

“So, what’re our chances here?”

Lucius purses his lips and considered. “Thirty-seventy, I suppose.”

Jim groaned. “Only a thirty percent chance we get back in our own bodies?”

“No!” Lucius startled, “a thirty percent chance you’ll survive the machine at all.”

“We need to rethink this plan,” Harvey pressed his hands together, “figure out some other options.”

“For a record number of times today, I’m in agreement with the drunken oaf,” Ed adjusted his glasses, “We need to find someone else, something else, to help guide this process.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t time,” Oswald announced, purposefully calm.

“What do you mean?” Ed frowned at him, “We should have upwards of a day before the engrammatic calcification Ecks warned us about begins.”

“But that wasn’t all he warned us about.” Oswald cast a significant look at Jim. “I’m sure the detective has been feeling it too. Headache, nausea, dizziness. Signs of that neural toxicity setting in, I imagine.”

“Jim?” Harvey spun to face his partner, and found guilt written all over his features.

Ed’s lip trembled, furious and fearful all at once. “Oswald, why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, my love,” Oswald cupped Ed’s cheek, “not when there was nothing to be done.”

“But that means…” Harvey’s shoulders slumped, helpless and aching with the weight of what might happen.

“We have no choice,” Jim straightened his spine, setting aside Oswald’s cane. “We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

“Hope?” Ed sputtered, “that’s not a plan. That’s not science. That’s not—”

“I’ve no need for hope,” Oswald lifted his other hand to Ed’s face, cradling it between his palms and looking him in the eye, “I have faith.” Ed’s breath caught in his throat, and Oswald pulled his head down to touch their foreheads together. “Just breathe with me,” he whispered.

Jim turned to Harvey, unable to watch any more of the others’ tenderness, swallowed up in the bizarre. “So, I guess this could be good-bye.”

“Oh, no, nope. No way.” Harvey shook his head fiercely, like a dog trying in vain to rid itself of fleas, “This is gonna work. This is gonna work, and you’ll be back to normal, and everything will go back to normal, and then we’ll drink until we forget this ever happened.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jim nodded, “but just in case…” He pushed up on his toes, tossed his arms around Harvey’s neck, and pulled him down into a kiss.

“Ooh, spicy…” Zsasz whipped out his phone and started taking pictures. Lucius averted his eyes because really, he didn’t need his singleness rubbed in his face while he was trying to operate a potentially lethal brain-swapping machine. Lee averted her eyes too, because she was apparently the only person in the room with even an ounce of courtesy.

Oswald stared on in frozen horror, watching someone wearing his body macking on Harvey Bullock.

“As if my nightmare fuel was not already plentiful,” Ed winced, squeezing his eyes shut. He reached blindly for Oswald, pressing a hand over his eyes as well, “Don’t look, darling.”

Jim and Harvey broke apart, Harvey the perfect picture of dazed and confused. “Gee…guess that whole ‘last night on Earth’ thing isn’t just a line.”

“Nothing’s been just a line with you,” Jim confessed. “I know I haven’t been willing to be out with this, with us—even though apparently, almost everyone knew already. Still, I shouldn’t have made you hide.”

“Aw,” Harvey tried to shrug it off, “I understand. Department golden boy with a washed up, whiskey soaked bastard who’s just trying to ride it out till retirement? Who woulda believed it anyway.”

“No, Harvey, that’s not it. Not at _all_. The truth is, I’m the one who always messes it up. This sort of thing,” Jim gestured vaguely in the space between their chests, “With Barbara, then Lee, it always fell apart. The only constant I had through all of that was you. My partner. And then when we started being more than that, more than friends, it—it blindsided me. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was going to screw it up too, only this time it would be even worse because there would be no _you_ to be there for me when it all crashed and burned. I couldn’t stand the thought, so I just shoved it down, buried it under excuses. I told myself, it’s fine, we’re fine, it’s just like before, but with more…”

“Sex,” Harvey completed the thought when Jim seemed unlikely to.

“That,” Jim coughed. “I thought that not talking about it, not defining it, would keep it safe. Our friendship had lasted this long, therefore, if we were still just friends, then everything would be fine. We were okay.”

“Of course, we’re okay, Jim. And we _are_ friends, we always will be. This romantic junk is just…it’s just…” Harvey tugged at his beard like he might be able to yank the rest of his thought out through it, finally snapping his fingers as he said, “Okay, it’s like, do you remember when they started putting that fancy teriyaki pineapple relish on the dogs down at Dino’s stand? And I wasn’t sure about it at first…”

“You called it an affront to reconstituted beef products everywhere,” Jim recalled with a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“It was weird! Why would you mess with the best hot dog uptown Gotham has ever seen? But then, you remember, I finally caved and tried it…”

“And it was so good you propositioned Dino in front of a bunch of scandalized tourists, I _definitely_ remember that.”

“So, you see my point!” Harvey crowed, triumphant. “Different can seem scary. But Jim…different with you has been amazing, every step of the way.”

“Every step of the way, really?”

“No, that’s a lie, a lot of the dumb shit you’ve pulled has sucked big time. But,” Harvey reached out, taking Jim’s hands in his own and holding on tight, like he could keep him safe through force of will alone, “I wouldn’t trade a second of it, because for all the bad things, my life’s never been better than when I’m with you. You’re my everything, Jim. The mac to my cheese, the cool side of the pillow on a hot summer day, whatever bullshit romantic cliché you can think of, I’ve got it in spades for you.”

Jim’s chin trembled, betraying him before he could shore up his military posture and declare, “I love you too, you idiot.” He pulled Harvey’s hands up to his mouth and pressed a fervent kiss to the back of each one. “Now you stay here, and help Lucius flip those damn switches, and when I get out of that machine, I'm gonna come over here and kiss you with my own damn mouth.”

“Oh god,” Oswald whispered under his breath to Ed as Jim finally let Harvey go, “I think I’ve been in Jim’s body too long because that was kind of…nice.”

Ed hmmed thoughtfully, “It was a higher caliber of romance than I thought either of them capable, so I am reluctantly impressed.” He quirked his head over to Oswald. “Er. Should we have some sort of touching moment too?”

“It would be narratively appropriate,” Oswald shot a lopsided smile at him.

Ed matched it. “You already know I love you.”

Oswald sucked in a breath like he’d been hit, hard. “Yes. I—I know. It’s still incredible when you say it, though.” Now that the moment of truth was crashing down around his ears, he could hardly bear to look away from Ed, even though seeing him with so much fear in his eyes made Oswald’s heart beat painfully in his chest.

“What I want to do—” The words caught in Oswald’s throat. It was every bit as difficult as when he’d first told Ed his feelings for him. “The question I want to ask you…I don’t want to ask it because I think I might die.”

“Oh, Oswald,” Ed’s eyes shimmered with tears, “I—I—you know my answer. No matter what.”

Oswald could’ve collapsed with relief. “Well, if I didn’t already have so much to live for.”

Oswald reached for Ed at the same time as Ed reached for him, mouths crashing together, hands tangling in hair.

“I’ll be back,” Oswald promised breathlessly, “In just a minute.”

Lee, from where she was monitoring the whole scene with a raised brow, commented, “That was sweet…almost. Maybe?”

“Objectively speaking, it was definitely a little bit sweet,” Lucius agreed.

Harvey clapped his hands together, “Alright, you crazy kids, let’s get this show on the road! I have a whiskey-induced blackout that I’d really like to get to as soon as possible.”

Jim and Oswald shared an undefinable look before setting off towards the tables where they’d been tied down a day earlier, laying back down on them with trepidation.

Lucius and Lee silently did what they could to replicate Ecks’ set-up, attaching and checking the electrode pads attached to the two men’s heads. They shared a look of their own, wondering how the science and medicine they’d devoted their lives to could’ve resulted in something so horrifying, how they’d gotten wrapped up in this potentially tragic farce.

Ed and Harvey stood watch at a safe distance, momentarily bonded in their helplessness.

Lucius returned to the controls while Lee stood by, mentally preparing herself for the possibility of having to declare someone she’d once loved dead—dead by mad science, in the middle of an abandoned warehouse in the body of someone he hated.

Lucius almost asked if they were ready, but he realized that was probably nonsensical. He instead settled on, “Shall I proceed?”

“Yes,” Oswald said, bracing for the pain. “Do it,” Jim echoed, fists clenched.

“Alright,” Lucius did a final check—all the controls were still the same, which is to say, completely and utterly devoid of logic or sense. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, and without further ado, he flipped the comically oversized switch.

A charge of roiling electricity screamed through the machine and into Jim and Oswald’s heads. The mechanical beast quaked and smoked, and its occupants seized.

Harvey took his hat off and pressed it to his heart, squeezing his eyes shut to murmur a half-remembered prayer. Ed heard him fill in a few blanks in his memory with bits of the policeman’s code of honor but didn’t say anything. Every prayer was worth something, now.

One last tongue of power crackled along the length of the machine before it died with a clunk. No one moved, except Lee. Her sensible heels clacked against the concrete floor as she stepped briskly forward to check on Jim and Oswald. For a moment, no one breathed.

“Ahhh!” Jim tried to bolt upright, Oswald following behind a second later, both of them snapped back to the table by the electrodes glued to their foreheads. Lee rushed to free them both.

“Don’t try to move, take a minute to adjust,” she ordered, and they reluctantly obeyed.

“Jim?” she asked, tentative and hopeful, to whoever was in Jim Gordon’s body.

“Yeah?” Jim rubbed his temples, “Lee? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, thank god,” Lee almost collapsed in relief, falling forward to throw her arms around Jim’s shoulders. He let out a surprised “oof!” and patted Lee’s back, confused.

Ed was off across the floor like a shot, skidding to a stop in front of Oswald before sweeping him into an ungainly hug.

“Ed!” Oswald exclaimed, a little choked, “How did you get here? I thought…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ed reared back to check Oswald’s face, his eyes, his mouth, tracing each feature with careful fingers, “you’re back.”

Oswald squinted up at him, frazzled and annoyed. “Was I gone?”

Harvey had to put his hands on his knees, bending nearly in half as his lungs remembered how to work. By the time he struggled back upright, Jim was standing in front of him. His Jim, all bits and bobs and brains back where they belonged.

“You wanna tell me what the hell’s going on here?” Jim asked, arms akimbo and hair standing hilariously on-end.

“Oh, buddy, am I glad to—wait,” Harvey squinted, “You really _are_ Jim, right?”

Jim frowned, and there was no mistaking that for anything but the genuine article. Patented Gordon irritation, no doubt. “Who else would I be?” He paled slightly. “Shit, is this another Clayface thing?”

“Oh, no, much worse!” Harvey assured him. “You, uh, well. You don’t remember?”

“What don’t I remember?” Jim asked, though it sounded more like a threat.

“Uh. Okay.” Harvey brushed the sweat off his brow, trying to figure out a plausible way to explain the day’s events. “It’s a long and horrible story that will make you want to guzzle bleach, so to nutshell it for ya: you and Penguin switched bodies. For a little less than a day. Every awful thing you can imagine probably happened—except, actually, no one died! So, maybe not so bad.”

“That guy looks pretty dead,” Jim gestured to Symon’s corpse.

“Fuck, right, yeah. That guy definitely died. But he was an asshole, so none of us are that worried about it.”

“Right. You wanna go back to the part where I _switched fucking bodies_ with Penguin?”

Back by the machine, Ed had shooed Doctor Thompkins away, not wanting any hands other than his own to inspect Oswald’s well-being.

“Would you please tell me what’s happening?” Oswald grouched at Ed’s ministrations. He tried to lift Oswald’s eyelid in an attempt to check his pupil dilation but was swatted away. “Ed!”

“You don’t remember?” Ed chewed his thumbnail, “Actually, I suppose that’s to be expected. The machine merely laid a facsimile of your brain patterns over the original host’s, and if the second round in the machine destroyed the imposter patterns, then you’d be left approximately as you were before the procedure…”

“Ed?” Oswald threw up a hand to stem the flow of Ed’s thinking-out-loud, “You’re talking nonsense. You know how dear you are to me, but I am at the end of my patience.”

“Of course,” Ed shook his head and refocused, “Er, what’s the last thing you recall?”

“I was locked into this damn thing, the curly-headed maniac threw the switch, then I think I heard a gunshot—Zsasz? Maybe? I assume he killed the slime responsible for this.” Oswald gestured to the dead man still slowly leaking blood onto the ground.

“Oh,” Ed waved a dismissive hand at the body, “This is a different Simon. Er, _Sy_ mon, it’s—you know what, never mind. Not important. Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t remember…”

“Remember _what_?”

“It’s complicated. But, to summarize: you switched bodies with Jim Gordon yesterday, however, the swap didn’t actually take effect until you entered REM sleep, meaning you woke up in bed with Harvey Bullock this morning, because he and Jim have been having a torrid affair for some time. Then I tried to kill you because Jim-in-your-body told me that _you_ were having an affair with _him_ , but you convinced me that you were you, just in the wrong body, and then we embarked on some misadventures with the detectives and Mr. Fox which resulted in our return here to remedy the situation, which we apparently did. So…hurray?”

Oswald’s eyes had gotten wider and wider as the tale rolled on, his mouth falling open at the mention of Harvey Bullock and hanging there till the end. He snapped it shut and blinked furiously, trying to wrestle with this tumult of unwelcome revelations.

He latched onto one, small unspoken facet of the speech, like a drowning man grasping a scrap of floating plywood: “So, I guess our relationship is no longer under wraps.”

“I think we can safely say it’s been thoroughly un-wrapped,” Ed agreed.

“Uh huh. And you say I—” Oswald shuddered, “okay, I can’t actually repeat it, but I think I need to dissolve Bullock in a vat of acid.”

“You know I’m always game for disintegrating irritating members of the police force.”

Oswald tilted his head to the side. “Hmm. You seem rather chipper, considering.”

“Mainly just relieved that you’re back to your usual embodiment,” Ed explained, “You know I’d love you no matter what flesh you were in, but Jim Gordon’s body? It was difficult.”

“I can only imagine,” Oswald sighed, letting his hands settle on Ed’s chest, “My dear Ed. I can’t remember a single thing about the day you say I lived in Jim Gordon’s body, but I nonetheless know for certain that I couldn’t have survived it without you.”

Ed curled his fingers over Oswald’s, holding him close and reveling in the familiar touch. “You know what I’d like right now?” he murmured.

“Do tell.”

“I’d really like to kiss you on your own, real mouth.”

“I’d like that t—hold on. You want to kiss me on my mouth—does that mean you kissed _Jim_ —?”

“No!” Ed made a face like he might be sick, “No, I mean, I kissed you, in Jim’s body, but that’s different.”

Oswald thought about it for a moment before determining, “I still feel like I need to kill him. Maybe we’ll get a queen-sized vat of acid, make it a two-for-one deal.”

Ed smiled widely, “That sounds like a plan. And it sounds like you really are back to your old self.”

“I will be once I’ve done this,” Oswald slid a hand around the back of Ed’s neck and tugged him down, kissing him roughly. Ed’s mouth opened against his, and yes—this was how things were supposed to be.

“Oh god,” Oswald jerked away regretfully, “Oh, how appalling.”

“What?” Ed gave him a worried once over, as if perhaps some bit of Jim Gordon had managed to linger through the transformation—a sanctimonious elbow or self-righteous pinkie finger tagging along for the ride.

Oswald grimaced, stealing a pained glance at Jim and Harvey. “I just realized…if you kissed me, then Jim would’ve kissed him…which means my mouth…”

Realization dawned.

“Oh _god_.”

Oswald couldn’t agree with the sentiment more. “I need to brush my teeth as soon as humanly possible.”

Ed nodded vigorously.

“In fact,” Oswald continued, “I would kill for a shower, right now. I would kill many people.”

Ed drew himself up, buttoning his jacket. “Then let’s make that happen.”

A slow grin crawled across Oswald’s mouth. “Can I count on your company?”

“Always,” Ed grinned back, popping down to steal another kiss, “Are we going to try some of that life affirming sex I’ve heard tell of?”

“Yes, except in this case, it may be more aptly called...hmm, identity-affirming sex?” Oswald wondered.

“Well, whatever we call it, as long as it’s just you and me, then count me in.”

Across the room, Harvey’s elucidation of the day’s events to Jim was still winding down and going roughly as well as a five-car-pileup on an icy highway. Which is to say, Jim was just standing there, baffled and staring into space as he tried to absorb the psychological carnage Harvey was unloading on him.

Finally, Harvey scuffed his shoe against the floor and muttered as hit the end of his tale, “But uh, well. Kinda sucks that you don’t remember the very last thing.”

“What last thing?” Jim asked with great trepidation. What had he done? What fresh horror could there be left to tell?

“We kinda had a real Hallmark moment,” Harvey admitted, “Or maybe Lifetime, I get those channels mixed up. But, you know. Declarations of, er, love and…stuff.”

“Oh,” Jim rocked back on his heels, “That’s…that’s not what I expected.”

“Yeah. You were super romantic, A-plus! Nothing you wouldn’t be proud of. Hopefully, nothing that you’d regret…”

Jim watched Harvey’s dog-expecting-to-be-kicked expression bubble up and decided immediately that that wouldn’t do. “Harvey,” he put his hand on his partner’s shoulder, then figured there was no reason to play it coy now, and reached to cradle his face instead, “If I finally pulled my head out of my ass and told you that I loved you—then it’s about damn time.”

It was Harvey’s turn to be lost for words.

“Well?” Jim raised his eyebrows expectantly at Harvey’s silence, “I don’t remember the first go around, but that right there was a pretty decent line. So, are you going to kiss me or what?”

“Or what!” Harvey said, before kissing him soundly. This didn’t make a great deal of sense, but no one was going to bother him about sense at this point.

Lee linked her arm companionably with Lucius’ as the scientist looked rather forlornly between the embracing couples. “Congratulations, Mr. Fox!” she gave his arm a cheery wiggle, like she was trying to shake loose a smile, “You saved the day.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Lucius sighed, “kind of you to notice.”

“Give them a minute,” Lee suggested, “our guys will at least muster up a ‘thanks,’ I’m sure. And you could probably do without the mayor’s gratitude.”

“That’s very true,” Lucius agreed, an odd look in his eyes as he watched Ed and Oswald holding hands as they both pulled out their phones, no doubt playing catch-up on their neglected nefarious deeds.

“I suppose I really should feel buoyed by this,” he told Lee, “After all, if these two oddest of odd couples can make their way through mad scientists and body swapping to find true love, then surely I can find the courage to brave a phone call and ask for a date.”

“To a special lady or gent?” Lee ventured.

“Oh, a gentleman, definitely,” Lucius replied with a smile, “a gentleman's gentleman, you might even say.”

“Oh!” Lee bounced up and down with excitement, “You should definitely do that. And then tell me everything.”

“Well, this is getting positively maudlin,” Ed noted with disgust as he approached the detectives, Oswald wrapped around his waist. 

“Indeed,” Oswald agreed.

“I don’t know what that means,” Harvey said happily, keeping Jim close to his chest, “But I don’t care.”

“It means mushy, sentimental,” Lucius supplied helpfully, “And as a neutral observer, I’d like to point out that you two,” Lucius flung an accusatory gesture at Ed and Oswald, “were certainly key participants in it, what with the whole veiled proposal business.”

“Proposal!” Oswald squawked.

“You didn’t,” Ed tried to explain, hand waving erratically, “I mean, you sort of—though, obviously, I wouldn’t hold you to anything you said while you were so _literally_ not yourself…”

“That’s not…” Oswald grabbed Ed’s tie, partially for balance, partially to assure himself that although the world had tipped on its axis, Ed was still there, “I’m not trying to wriggle out of it! I’ve wanted to—Ed, I’m just _furious_ that I can’t remember! And that I would ask you here, of all places? I don’t…”

“It’s alright,” Ed patted Oswald’s hand as it loosened its stranglehold on the designer silk, “I think we can safely call do-over, under the circumstances.”

“Very well.” Oswald still looked like he’d taken an 8.0 on the Richter scale to his mental foundations, but he managed to recuperate with admirable speed. “Alright, then. I suppose it’s time we say our goodbyes. My genuine thanks to you, Mr. Fox,” Oswald gifted him with a regal nod, “If you ever have need of a favor…”

“I’ll be sure not to call you,” Lucius replied lightly.

Ed and Oswald smiled in eerie sync. “We’ll see,” Oswald tapped his nose, knowingly. 

Jim stepped forward, oddly comforted by the familiar contours of adversarial politeness with the city’s mayor slash kingpin. “Well, Oswald, if I never see you again, it’ll be too soon.”

“The feeling’s mutual. And double for you, Harvey.”

“Aw…” Harvey pressed a hand to his heart, miming a wound, “go screw yourself.”

“No need! That’s what Ed’s for.”

“Ugh,” Jim and Harvey both made a face, and Ed barely covered an undignified snort of laughter.

“Zsasz,” Oswald snapped his fingers and the assassin hopped up out of the electric orange chair he’d been dozing in during the remainder of the drama, following his inconvenient murder of the second Ecks, “let’s go.” Ed retrieved Oswald’s cane from where Jim had left it, and Oswald gave it a jaunty twirl as they headed out.

“It’s been fun!” Zsasz waved a cheery goodbye at the gathered GCPD squad, leaving Jim with a wink and a waggled ‘call me’ motion, thumb and pinkie outstretched by his ear.

“Does he…actually think I’m going to call him?” Jim wondered aloud.

“He did leave you his number,” Lee held out a scrap of notebook paper with suspicious red stains on the edges.

“How does this day keep getting worse?” Harvey muttered as Jim took the paper with a sort of horrified fascination.

“All the more reason to bring it to a close,” Lucius pointed out sensibly. He turned to Lee, “Let’s get those strapping officers from outside to help secure the machine for transport to a locked facility. Make sure no one else’s synapses get fried or faxed or otherwise fouled up.”

“Good call,” Harvey thumped Lucius’ back, “you’re a godsend.”

“Indeed. And when I inevitably leave the GCPD for better horizons, I’ll make sure to list you as a reference.”

Jim stepped forward to shake Lucius’ hand, “Seriously, you saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Lucius nodded graciously, “You can thank me by letting me ride back with Doctor Thompkins, so as to not re-double the trauma of experiencing your partner’s vehicle’s backseat. And also, by never involving me in this kind of nonsense again.”

“No promises,” Jim smiled weakly and waved goodbye to the pair as they set off.

“Hmm,” Harvey stuck his hands in his pockets, “Guess that leaves us to go explain this all to Barnes. Yippee.”

“Didn’t you tell him what happened?”

“Are you kidding? He’d have had us in straightjackets before you could say ‘workplace stress.’ Though, maybe that would’ve been better than having to hear him tell me he knew I was ‘knocking boots’ with you…except, of course, you was Penguin at the time.”

“Ick,” Jim’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Wait, so then…he knows about us?” Jim clarified. “Our, uh, relationship?”

“Definitely. Him and, apparently, everyone else.”

Jim harrumphed, clearly displeased.

“Sorry, if you still wanted to keep it on the downlow,” Harvey apologized.

“No! That’s not it. I just wanted to get to tell people in my own way.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you want to make a trademark Jim Gordon speech to the whole station about us doing the do?” Harvey mocked him gently, “Ravish me in front of the trainees?”

“I think I would’ve phrased it better. And definitely not performed public sex acts.”

“A man can dream,” Harvey sighed. He frowned when he spotted Jim minutely adjusting the hang of his badge on his belt, a nervous tic of his. “You sure you’re feeling alright, buddy?”

“I am. Actually, I feel great.” Jim was clearly gearing up to something, and after a moment that stretched taught between them, he finally said, “I feel like…maybe apartment hunting wouldn’t be so bad, if the two of us go it together.”

“Whoa.” Harvey felt his legs go to jelly on him. “That’s…out of left field. But in a good way!” he rushed to say.

Jim blew out a nervous breath. “I’d been meaning to say something for a while. Now seemed as good a time as any. And I was hoping me-that-I-don’t-remember hadn’t beat me to that, too.”

“Nope, that’s—you got in on the ground floor of that one. Oh, ha, inadvertent real estate pun.”

“That was terrible,” Jim pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh.

“I know, you love it.” Harvey clapped his hands, “So, first: lots of drinking, so I can forget all this too. And second…check out what kind of place we can afford on not one but two shitty police salaries?”

“Perfect. With one small edit: first, we finish out the work-day. It’s not even three,” Jim pointed out, tapping his watch.

Harvey rolled his eyes as he threw an arm around Jim’s shoulders and reeled him in. “Jim Gordon, it’s a damn good thing I love you, or I’d definitely have tossed you in the river by now.”

Jim kissed Harvey’s cheek and stayed pressed against his beard for a minute, taking in the moment—the bizarre, wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime-ness of the moment. “Love you too, partner.”

“Aw, man,” Harvey shook his head, “This is gonna be bad. All you gotta do is roll out The Three Words and I’m gonna be putty. Resistance is futile.”

“Like you could say ‘no’ to me before.”

“Point, set, match,” Harvey assented. “I guess not much has changed.”

“Yeah,” Jim nodded, “Just everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> In the Supernatural s5 finale, when Chuck said, “endings are hard,” he was RIGHT. Maybe that’s why it took two and a half literal years for me to claw the rest of this fic together (I started this in 2017!! I checked the document info, and I wrote the first thousand words of this after the s4 premiere. Go figure.) Anywho, thanks so much to all y’all who stuck around through almost 30k of this silliness—you are heroes! If you’ve got a sec, any thoughts/comments/emojis you would care to leave below would be treasured deeply. <3


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